


In the Morning of the Magicians

by Asami_T



Series: A Kind of Magic [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Agender Character, Alternate History, Bisexual Character, Black Hermione Granger, F/F, F/M, Female Harry Potter, Good Draco Malfoy, Good Ginny Weasley, Good Ron Weasley, Good Slytherins, Good Weasley Family (Harry Potter), Heir of Slytherin Harry Potter, Jerkass Hufflepuffs, Lesbian Character, M/M, Master of Death Harry Potter, References to Labyrinth (1986), References to Ranma 1/2, Slytherin Harry Potter, Slytherin Hermione Granger, The Deathly Hallows, Tiresian Tonic, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, asian harry potter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-02-07 23:11:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 117,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21466084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asami_T/pseuds/Asami_T
Summary: Harry Potter's journey for normalcy, romance and headache-free days continues. Join her in the turbulent fourth and fifth years at Hogwarts School.
Relationships: Amelia Bones/Original Female Character(s), Cedric Diggory/George Weasley, Draco Malfoy/Ron Weasley, Fred Weasley/Original Female Character(s), Hermione Granger/Harry Potter, Narcissa Black Malfoy/Bill Weasley, Neville Longbottom/Pansy Parkinson, Rolanda Hooch/Minerva McGonagall
Series: A Kind of Magic [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1237949
Comments: 99
Kudos: 208





	1. As the Dawn Began to Break

Amelia Bones sighed and rested her head against the cool cherry wood of her desk. There were some days where she really wished that she’d taken _any other_ career path than this. Since Harry Potter had by fortune’s favour captured Peter Pettigrew, she’d had more sleepless nights and dates with a coffee maker and Pepper-Up Potion than she’d ever wanted in the short time she’d been Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

First, immediately out of the gate following the man’s arrest, people within the Minister’s office (specifically a pink-clad nuisance) had tried to intervene and insist on Pettigrew being pushed through the veil for all the subterfuge and clearly being the guilty party in an assault and attempted murder—Amelia had pointedly refused on the grounds that Pettigrew’s potential guilt in mass murder had a very large amount of influence on other actions the Ministry had taken since the death of He Who Must Not Be Named, and thus needed to be taken into account in the inevitable review of convictions since then.

After some cajoling and things that may or may not be considered borderline torture, Pettigrew had, in tears, confessed his guilt in betraying James and Lily Potter over a decade ago, on top of his conspiracy to kidnap Harry Potter with the help of Bellatrix Lestrange—thereafter openly admitting that he had killed and imperioused numerous people in the process of the attempt.

The admission of his guilt in the deaths of the Potters had been grounds enough to exonerate Sirius Black, but the Minister’s office had at first put up quite a resistance—Sirius Black had escaped from prison and could therefore be consigned to Azkaban permanently just for the crime of _escaping_.

Amelia wouldn’t stand to see _anything of the sort happen_. Injustice in the name of ineptitude would not stand.

First, she convinced Minister Fudge to withdraw the “kiss-on-sight” order for Sirius Black. It had taken some cajoling, but she’d managed to pull it off by convincing him that by refusing to exonerate Black, he was setting himself up for a public relations fall when it inevitably got out as to all the circumstances around Black’s incarceration.

Once that executive directive had made it into the papers, Sirius Black had surrendered himself to the DMLE at her home in London. A brief questioning later, Amelia had uncovered a conspiracy within the DMLE and Ministry to liquidate the Death Eater population at Azkaban—and had presented these findings to Minister Fudge.

She was never able to determine _who_ had authorized the executions, though she had ideas (side-eyeing the pink-clad Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic as she smugly stood in the corner of the room)—but Minister Fudge had been damn near horrified, and had quickly moved to ensure Sirius Black was properly exonerated, and declared a free man, with all his rights and titles and what have you restored by Ministry decree.

It ultimately was a fairly… shabby gesture of mercy and kindness for a man who had been illegally incarcerated for eleven years, but the Ministry was… _always like that_, really, so Amelia was at least satisfied that some semblance of justice would be demonstrated, even if she’d ended up nearly having to drag the Ministry kicking and screaming into admitting they were _wrong_.

Sirius Black’s trial took place during a late morning in early June, the spectator stands _full_ of people, including Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, Minerva McGonagall and her wife—though, one person she noted who was absent from the trial, was _Harry Potter_, the man’s godson.

She’d taken statements from Harry just after Hogwarts dismissed for the year, and had half-expected the young man to be present, but he wasn’t. She idly wondered if he was ill, or something.

But the trial itself was _fascinating_!

After being cross-examined, repeatedly put back and forth and on top again, Sirius had kept to his story, accusing the Ministry of trying to kill him without a trial, and never granting him proper rights as an accused.

He was exonerated in record time, but it had certainly started investigations—into potential impropriety of Albus Dumbledore, the actions of the late Minister Bagnold, and the actions of former DMLE head, her predecessor, Bartemius Crouch, Sr.

She had a feeling that this wasn’t even the _start_ of the iceberg that would let loose a deluge that irrevocably changed some things within the Ministry, or fundamentally broke something that would never be healed. Time would tell.

**…**

While Sirius Black was being exonerated, Harry Potter was on a forced vacation.

And she wasn’t sure she was happy about it.

On the sunny shores of Toletania, young men with a taste for women, and perhaps even some young sapphic women enjoying the sun were paying close attention to two dark-haired girls walking the beach having animated conversations.

The taller willowier brunette was wearing a silver bikini, her sharp blue eyes playing on a very strong air of self-confidence, mixing well with her confident smirk. Nobody could tell if the smirk was malicious in intent, or simply _cocky_ and self-assured.

The shorter of the two was raven-haired, and had bright, almost glowing emerald green eyes. Unlike her more confident counterpart, she was wearing a one-piece dark green swimsuit—she seemed much more controlled on top of that, but positively _radiated_ happiness and warmth, like the sun on a perfect summer’s day.

These two girls were Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter.

“Draco, I _don’t want to hear about what you and Weasley are up to_,” Harry whined, pushing her friend, nearly causing the taller Slytherin to fall into the wet sand.

“Oh, like I don’t have to listen to you about Granger all the time?” Draco asked, raising one of her eyebrows. She took on a faux Scottish accent. “Oh, Draco! Hermione’s so beautiful, so graceful, so cute, I love her so much! I want to snog her until the end of time!”

“I don’t sound like that,” Harry said, her ears reddening. “And at least I don’t sound like I’ve had a silver rod up my arse since I was a wee sprog, you cunt,”

Draco snorted, before grinning. “But I’m not wrong, am I?” She said, sticking out her tongue at her cousin.

“Regardless,” She continued. “I’m so glad Mother insisted we come along with her to Toletania this year. She wouldn’t have let you say no, even if you’d wanted to,” She said, pivoting away from her ribbing in favour of more pleasant things.

“Well, with Hermione’s parents taking her on holiday to Bactria and making it clear they wanted to spend time with their daughter, and all the nonsense going on back home with Sirius, Peter and the Ministry… I guess I am sort of grateful to have some time off,” Harry said, happily.

“And you get to experiment with being a girl,” Draco said confidently.

“Right! Though, I’m sort of surprised you joined in so readily,” Harry said, running her eyes down her friend’s body. “Not that the bikini looks bad on you, really—just… I’m surprised?”

“Gender’s one of those things I couldn’t give a toss about, really,” Draco said, smiling. “Sometimes it’s an escape from being Lucius Malfoy’s perfect son, sometimes it’s to bond with Mother, sometimes it’s just for my own satisfaction. I’m not a picky person.”

“I totally get that,” Harry said.

Draco nodded. “Also, to be honest? It’s nice to have someone around this time. I was dreadfully bored last summer with Mother sending me out all day while she entertained paramours, flirting with boys was about the only thing I could do to not go spare.”

“Hmm, right, d’ya think she’ll leave your old man and marry someone else?” Harry asked.

“It’s possible?” Draco said, thinking. “She’s definitely not happy with Father, and to be honest, neither am I—but I couldn’t say if she’ll actually divorce him or not. I’ll play a large part in that. She’d never voluntarily let him retain custody of me long-term.”

“Yeesh,” Harry said, rubbing her neck. “That’s terrible. I’d have thought you’d spend the summer in England snogging Weasley.”

“Ronald and his family are on holiday in Egypt, they won some prize from the Daily Prophet,” Draco said idly, picking at her painted nails. “Ron promised to send me a postcard and snog me when he got home.”

“Funny, Hermione told me the same thing,” Harry said, snorting.

“Mmm,” Draco said. She suddenly smirked. “Hey, Harry—there’s a boutique not far from here that I like. Mind if we pop over and visit?”

“Sure, I’m following your lead, Dray,” Harry said, smiling at her cousin. “Lead on!”

The boutique in question had been a rather high-end clothing shop. Harry had given in to her baser impulses and allowed Draco to pull her around and have her try on a whole bunch of things of varying design, ranging from simplistic to complex.

Harry thoroughly enjoyed the attention, and enjoyed the way she looked. After some pleading from Draco, and the eventual bribe of some delightful parfaits, finally convinced to buy a few things, just for the future.

…

Rufus Scrimgeour popped into existence on the fringes of the Crouch family property, a group of Aurors standing with him. He reached into his robe pocket and pulled out the parchment. The contents of the parchment were a warrant for the detaining of Bartemius Crouch Sr. for questioning regarding his actions during the Death Eater War and subsequent criminal trials that were pursued after the fact.

Approaching the door, Rufus knocked repeatedly, waiting for a response.

Eventually, Barty arrived at the door, looking a bit deranged and frustrated. “Rufus,” He said, seeming surprised, any coarse words for the person knocking on his door dying on his lips.

“Barty, you’ve been ignoring summons from Director Bones, Minister Fudge and the Wizengamot. I’m here to bring you in for a deposition,” Rufus said, looking bashful at the idea of having to arrest an old colleague.

“Ah… yes, right,” Barty said, turning on heel and retreating into his house. Rufus and a couple aurors stepped through the door, and saw Barty frustratingly flinging papers around, a watery-eyed house elf standing around looking nervous and jittery, as usual.

“Barty, you seem worried. Is everything alright?” Rufus asked, raising his eyebrows and peering at his friend carefully.

“I’m not worried about anything—this is just a criminal waste of my time when the Triwizard Tournament—” Barty began, indignation in his voice.

“Right, look mate, we’re not going to put you in Azkaban, we just want to figure all this nonsense out—Sirius Black’s already walked free, but it’s raised a lot of questions about you and your actions during the Trials,” Rufus said to calm his friend down, though this seemed to have the opposite effect, as Barty’s face turned to an unpleasant shade of puce.

“I still don’t know how that murderer managed to convince everyone he was innocent—I swear to Merlin—” Barty said, again going on a tangential rant.

“With all due respect, Barty, we’ve got a tight schedule to keep, so if you’d mind…?” Rufus said, cutting the man off and furrowing his brow. He was getting impatient, and Barty was acting like a proper pillock. He had half a mind to just stun the bastard and drag him kicking and screaming to the Wizengamot, but he had to be _diplomatic about it_, because it looked bad for an Auror to be arresting a high ranking government official of high public stature.

As Barty turned toward him, the sound of thudding downstairs in the cellar caused raised eyebrows among the Aurors.

“Barty, have you got something in your cellar?” Rufus asked, raising an eyebrow again. Barty, already clammy and sweating, tried to avoid making eye contact. Rufus glanced at Kingsley Shacklebolt.

“Auror Shacklebolt. Take Auror Tonks and investigate that noise,” Rufus said plainly. “We’ll wait here for you,”

Kingsley and Nymphadora crossed the room towards the door to the cellar, and opened it. They both cast strong _lumos_ spells, and descended the stairs. A few minutes later, a voice came up.

“Sir! There’s someone down here!” Nymphadora’s voice called back, and before Rufus could reach for his wand—

“_Stupefy!_” Barty shouted, blasting Rufus back, before attempting to bolt from his house. Unfortunately, thinking ahead has never been one of Bartemius Crouch Sr.’s strongest traits, and he ended up getting bowled over by the aurors standing _right outside_ the front door of the house, before being bound in magical restraints.

After helping Rufus up onto his feet, he proceeded back inside, rubbing the spot on his head where he’d most definitely develop a right goose egg.

“Right. Bartemius Crouch Sr., you’re under arrest for assaulting an Auror. Anything you say can and will be used against you before the Wizengamot,” Rufus said in a low growl before gesturing for them to take him away to the Ministry for processing, while Rufus headed back into the house and towards the cellar.

Descending the stairs, he found Kingsley and Nymphadora standing quietly, looking at someone inside of a cage.

“Barty had someone in a cage? What sort of depraved lunatic was this man?”

“It’s not just that sir—look,” Kingsley said, putting the lumos directly onto the person in question.

The haggard, pale and dishevelled face of Bartemius Crouch Jr. peered back, his eyes vacant and expressionless.

“Bloody hell,” Rufus muttered. “Heads’re gonna roll for this.”

“That’s underselling it,” Tonks muttered.

…

Harry slipped deeper into the bathtub, feeling quite confident in the waterproofing charm on the parchment. Hermione had a _lot_ of things to say about her holiday in Bactria thus far, even this early, and went on and on about some of the sights and historical sites, but also some of the culture shock that came along with the natural confluence of the Hellenistic and Vedic worlds.

She also responded to Harry’s _last_ letter, positively gushing with praise for the picture of herself that Harry had included. She hadn’t been quite daring enough to expose herself to Hermione (they were still taking things quite slow), but she didn’t see the harm in sharing the photograph Narcissa had taken of her before they’d gone out to a wixen opera.

It turns out Hermione _really_ liked the sight of her girlfriend with a high bun and a gorgeous dress. Go figure.

After finishing the letter, Harry set the parchment aside and laid her head back. She didn’t have nearly as much to say as Hermione did about her holiday. So far it's just been her cavorting around al-Mariyah playing “rich girl on holiday”. Her mother and Hermione would both tell her she deserved some time off, given how much she had on her shoulders throughout the past three years, but _still_. It was a hard adjustment to deal with.

Eventually finishing her bath, she wrapped herself in a towel and padded into the bedroom she shared with Draco. The other teenager glanced up at her and frowned.

“Are you okay, Harry?”

“I’m okay, Dray,” Harry said, scratching her head. “I think it’s a bit of… _not_ being overwhelmed.”

“What do you mean?” Draco asked, raising an eyebrow.

“For the first time in three years… I haven’t got any problems. No… dark lords to deal with, no questions about my identity, nothing like it. For one summer, I’m… just a girl named Harry. It’s… sort of unnerving, actually,”

“You’re stressed about _not being stressed?_ Potter, are you daft or what?” Draco said, slack-jawed. “What’s wrong with just… taking time off and being you?”

“I’m not used to it, is all,” Harry said, rubbing her forehead. “I’d like to practice some of the material we’re set to learn next year, though—maybe then I’ll feel like I’m being productive.”

“Mm,” Draco said. “Alright, first thing tomorrow we’ll have Mother walk us through some advanced Charms. In the meantime, though, you’re sitting _right here_, eating some sweets, getting a facemask, and getting your nails painted.”

“Draco, I-”

“Shut up, Potter,” Draco said, shaking her head. “You’re on holiday. Act like it, would you?”

…

“By majority vote, this esteemed body finds you, Bartemius Crouch Sr., guilty of the following charges. Sustained use of the unforgivable curses, interference in the due process of law, and criminal conspiracy, the Wizengamot hereby sentences you to life imprisonment in Azkaban,” Fudge said, staring down at the one-time head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

It was an unfortunate circumstance, Amelia thought, as she watched Bartemius Crouch Sr. lead away by Aurors. What an interesting change of circumstances.

Just a day prior, it had been publically accepted that Crouch Sr. had been a hero of the war, and Crouch Jr. had died in prison, miserable and guilty of torture—now, Crouch Jr. was healing in St. Mungo’s and had been granted a full pardon (with evidence of his involvement in the Death Eaters being very thin or non-existent, really), and Crouch Sr. was heading for a stay in Azkaban until his death.

Since the Dementors had been destroyed, Azkaban wasn’t nearly as miserable, but a life in the Northern Tower was not going to be something Crouch enjoyed.

But this raised an immediate issue, that being the planned _Triwizard Tournament_ resurrection, as well as that of the continuing Quidditch World Cup. Both events fell under the jurisdiction of Bartemius Crouch Sr.’s department in the Ministry (along with Ludo Bagman’s department, of course)—with him gone, this would complicate matters significantly.

After the Wizengamot dismissed, she managed to corner Minister Fudge in the corridors just outside the courtrooms.

“Minister, what’s our plan now that the DIMC office is empty?” Amelia said, frowning. “We’ve got enough problems going on here without having to organize the Triwizard Tournament and Quidditch World Cup with no head of the DIMC.”

“What about that new lad in the DIMC office? His assistant, erm, Weatherby?” Fudge asked, looking contemplative. “I’m sure he’s capable of running the fort for now?”

“Weasley?” Amelia asked, raising her eyebrow. “He’s a bit young, isn’t he?”

“Oh, I’m sure he can do a fine job. Besides, it’ll just be temporary until we find a proper replacement,” Fudge said, waving his hand. “If he has any questions I’d be more than happy to field them. There’s other people who can help run the Triwizard Tournament as it is, I’m sure. There’s that bloke that Hogwarts just hired on for Defence Against the Dark Arts—the famous author, Gilderoy Lockhart. We’ll reach out to him and have him consult on the project,”

“Yes, but,” Amelia said, frowning.

“Tcha, it’ll be fine,” Fudge said, dismissing her concerns outright with a wave of his hands. “Keep up your investigations, Madam Bones. Keep in touch about any new developments. If you’ll excuse me, Dolores and I have a meeting with other department heads.”

…

Harry’s fourteenth birthday was largely uneventful—she’d spent the day with Draco and Narcissa window-shopping and being dragged to the _salon_ of all things, and then they’d gone to a very nice restaurant for dinner, accompanied by Harry’s mothers and Sirius.

It had been a very pleasant experience, but it had passed in the blink of an eye, and now it was getting to be August once more.

Hogwarts was preparing for another term, this time the supplies list suspiciously included “dress robes” as some form of a requirement. 

Suddenly, Harry had understood why Narcissa had dragged him and Draco to the high street one morning before they took their dose of the Tiresian Tonic—she _insisted_ on them both having high quality dress robes for both forms, with no concrete reason given as to why.

If she was _implying_ Harry was going to come out publically about being transgender so soon, she was in for a _rude awakening_. Harry knew she was a girl, but she was still utterly terrified of coming out and being one full-time. She certainly felt like an impostor compared to Draco, whom navigated the concept with far more precision than she felt like she ever could.

That, and Harry had seen plenty of instances where smart, brilliant young women had been outright dismissed or snubbed because of the fact they were women. 

Misogyny was still a thing in the wixen world, and Narcissa’s horror tales of being groomed from a young age for marriage to a man much older than her had done _nothing_ to assuage Harry’s fears of losing credibility and strength in the eyes of people.

But putting aside existential crises for now, Harry _fully intended_ to interrogate her mother as soon as possible about the reasoning for the dress robes, and what Dumbledore was planning. She loved the old man like a grandfather, but he was a sneaky one.

Harry assumed that she’d probably know what was going on, given that her stature within the faculty, being Dumbledore’s deputy and all.

However, another important event that was set to take place as August waned on, was the final match of the Quidditch World Cup. Harry and Draco had been following it intently from the beaches of Toletania.

Harry and Draco had woken up one morning in the weeks prior to the match, and stumbled out of their shared bedroom, bleary-eyed and dishevelled, to find Minerva, Rolanda and Narcissa sharing a kettle of tea and having a rather intense conversation, Narcissa following along with the elder Transfiguration professor almost reverently, staring at the two with eyes gleaming with idolatry and admiration for the Scottish professor.

She noticed their presence, however, and craned her head with her usual smile.

“Girls! Come, please, join us,” She said and waved her hand.

Harry sat down in one of the plush chairs and accepted the offered cup of tea from her mother. Her mother always made tea just right. It was just a little sweet, but not so much as to hide the natural undertones. There was nothing better than a nice cup of tea at breakfast time.

“We were just waiting for you two sleepyheads to wake up,” Narcissa said with a smile. “We’ve been having a chat, and I know you two have been so wanting to go to the Quidditch World Cup finals in a fortnight...”

“...and how could we resist and say no to _you two_?” Minerva finished for Narcissa, before reaching into her robe pocket. A small set of tickets for the final match clapped onto the coffee table, and both Draco and Harry lit up and jumped to their feet sharing the most girlish, excited screams ever.

“Are you serious, Mum?! We’re _going_?!” Harry said, looking very much the part of an overly excited fourteen-year-old.

“Of course! And we’ll be sharing a tent with Miss Granger and Miss Parkinson,” Minerva said with a smile. “It took some cajoling to get Miss Granger’s parents to release their daughter from their Bactrian adventures a bit early, but they know how much you’ve missed her, and how much she’s missed you, so… small mercies, I suppose,”

Harry leapt in the air, hovering very briefly before landing on her feet. She blushed.

“I still have problems with accidental magic like that,” Harry said, sitting back down. “This is going to be so much fun!”

“I hope so, it’ll be fascinating to see Viktor Krum in action against Ireland,” Narcissa said. “That young man is quite talented.”

She seemed pleased, before blinking. “I also had a little idea I wanted to propose to your mothers. I know you’re not very fond of the press, Harry—you’re very particular about keeping your privacy, and since you’re already taking the Tiresian Tonic… I had this small idea,”

“You and Draco staying as young women until the end of summer,” Minerva said, adjusting her glasses. “It would also allow young Draco to avoid his father like a bad dragonpox outbreak. It is your choice if you wish to do this, but I can’t guarantee you’ll have such free access to the Tonic after the beginning of the school year. The Ministry regulates it quite strenuously, and it is immensely difficult to brew on your own.”

Harry and Draco looked at each other briefly.

“Well, I haven’t any objections,” Harry said with a grin. “I rather like being a lass. I’ll be right sore to go back to being a bloke.”

“You’ll always be a young lady, Harry—just… in a different form,” Minerva said, waving her hands. “If you know what I mean,”

“I know, Mum, just… _it’s been interesting_ this summer. For the past few months I’ve been able to be… someone who isn’t the Master of Death, Heir of Slytherin, etcetera, etcetera, and then some—I’m just some rich girl on holiday. Lounging about on a beach with a big sun hat or getting a tan. It’s… unnervingly relaxing,” Harry said, rubbing the back of her neck.

Draco punched Harry in the shoulder. “I told you, you’re on holiday! Enjoy it and don’t be such an old woman.”

“Meanie,” Harry said, sticking her tongue out at Draco, who simply rolled her eyes in response.

…

“Well, don’t you look cute?” Draco said as she appraised Harry’s outfit as they made their way into the foyer of the summer house they’d been staying in as they prepared to leave for the Quidditch World Cup match site.

Harry blushed and stuck her hands into the pockets of her jeans. The Muggle world had been getting quite into the whole _flannel scene_, and so now Harry was wearing a flannel blouse and a pair of jeans she’d gotten from one of the Muggle clothing shops in al-Mariyah.

“Shut up, Dray,” She said, folding her arms and huffing, blushing all the while.

“Are you wearing _makeup_, Harry? Trying to preen and make yourself look good for the missus, I take it? So vain, Potter, so vain,” Draco said, smirking and giving Harry a wink.

“Says the girl wearing _a push-up bra_,” Harry retorted, pointing at Draco’s chest. “Are you trying to entice Ron into a quick shag in some bushes at the match? I thought you were in it for _Quidditch_, Malfoy.”

“No reason a girl can’t do both?” Draco offered, grinning ear to ear. “I definitely want to see the Quidditch match, but if I can pull it off, I actually would like to go for a round with Weasley, see if he’s as good at shagging as he is at chess. If I’ve only got a few days until I’m back to being a bloke again, I’m going to enjoy it while I can. Besides, it compliments my outfit, wouldn’t you agree?”

Seeing Draco wearing anything muggle would’ve caused Harry to double-take just a year ago, the young wix always seemed to favour intricate, very nice robes made to order, but now… Draco was wearing a very snug fitting black shirt made of stretchy material and a flannel skirt, looking very much the part of a high street fashionista.

Despite that though, her outfit was very functional, she was wearing the same pair of Muggle trainers that Harry was—just in a different colour. Both pairs were charmed to stay clean no matter the environment. No fashion was worth being rendered ineffectual in trying to navigate crowds at _the Quidditch World Cup_.

That, and well, Harry was well aware that Draco was… already quite aware of what a young man in the throes of pubescence would be interested in, and shoving a pair of breasts in front of him was certainly the way to grab one’s attention. Ron would probably be left drooling over himself at the sight of a leggy version of his boyfriend. Poor bastard.

Harry wasn’t _jealous_ of Draco—not at all.

She was just rather perturbed that Draco was taking the whole “femininity” thing far better than she was. It wasn’t her fault, though—Draco was just having fun. She was the one being… she supposed rather unreasonable about it?

Well, not unreasonable. Just… a little overwhelmed by how _easy_ it seemed to be for her friend, and how… unfamiliar but comfortable it was for her.

Harry growled to herself internally—_would this impostor syndrome shite knock it off?!_

Maybe Draco had some experience with this already, and she’d never known? Draco _never did_ go into great detail about what she did while on holiday with her Mum last year—she could totally believe Draco doing this sort of thing.

It was fun. Who wouldn’t? Honestly?

_A lot of people, but who cares? Being a girl is fun!_

Narcissa had returned with a portkey shortly afterwards, indicating it would take them to one of the rendezvous locations for the portkeys to the actual arena. After being swept off, they were deposited on a hill, and were only there for a few minutes before they were once more swept off to the arena.

The arena grounds itself was teeming with wixen, and Narcissa, looking nothing like the pureblood Lady Malfoy (with her short, well-coiffed black hair, and Muggle attire), lead them through the crowds to their tent location. As they approached a large green tent, Dobby emerged from the entrance and bowed.

“Mistress, Dobby has set up the tent,” He said. “Is there anything further the Mistresses require of Dobby?”

“No, thank you, you’re dismissed,” Narcissa said with a smile. Dobby popped out of existence and Narcissa strolled in, Harry and Draco following behind her.

“Here you go, girls! All the amenities we could need for a short stay for the Quidditch match tomorrow,”

“Excellent,” Harry said, grinning. “I love these tents—one of the best parts of being a wix, honestly,”

“Fancy camping much, do you?” Draco asked.

“Of course I do,” Harry said, rolling her eyes. “I’ve always fancied the outdoors—but these sorts of tents really make it a much easier experience. I’ve seen Muggle tents before, they’re cramped and uncomfortable. These are nice.”

“Right,” Draco said. Glancing at her mother she said nonchalantly. “So, um, when d’ya think the Weasleys will arrive?”

“They’re slated for the spot next to us,” Narcissa said, jabbing her thumb to one side of the tent. “I think when I spoke to Minerva, she said she’d be ensuring the Weasley family arrives soon after us.”

…

The Weasley family was very nice, Hermione thought. She’d been picked up from Bactria by Harry’s mum after much pleading and begging, she’d been given permission to go to the Quidditch World Cup (not that she gave a toss about the sport itself, but any time to spend with Harry was more than welcome in her eyes).

They’d taken a portkey to The Burrow, the Weasley family home, where she’d gotten more than acquainted with the large bustling Weasley family. All but one of the immediate family was present—Charlie Weasley, their second son, had been unable to attend due to work obligations, but their eldest, Bill, was there.

Much to the surprise of Hermione, so were Fred and George’s significant others. Danielle Terrence was sitting at the family table, drinking tea when she spotted Hermione entering with Professor McGonagall.

“Professor,” Danielle said, blinking, before glancing at Hermione. “and Hermione. Hi! Uh,”

“Miss Terrence,” Minerva said with a smile. “So good to see you. I hope you’re not tormenting poor Mister Weasley too much,”

“Me? Torture him? Of course not,” She said with her own smile. “He’s in the loo right now but he’ll be back. What brings you two here?”

“We’re heading to the World Cup later,” Hermione said. “Professor McGonagall insisted that we catch a ride with you lot.”

“Not the worst idea ever,” Danielle said. “Is Potter going to be there?”

Hermione nodded, grinning. “Oh, yes. I should hope so,”

Molly Weasley descended the stairs and greeted the two of them, and Hermione felt that the Weasley family was very friendly and warm. As it was, everyone seemed to get along despite the shouting and cajoling. She greeted Ron when he landed at the foot of the stairs, and giggled when he jumped in fright of Professor McGonagall standing a few feet away.

After some cajoling and quarrelling among the Weasleys, the large family and friends made their way to the St. Ottery Catchpole portkey, which whisked them off to the grounds. As they crested the small hill overlooking the large arena grounds, Hermione took a deep breath of shock at the sight. Dozens of tents, and people milling about like it was the most normal thing ever.

“How do they hide all this?” she asked in a breath, glancing at Arthur Weasley.

“Rather strong notice-me-not charms and the like,” Arthur said with a smile. “Come on, then. We’ve got a nice spot for the tent, Minerva had it put on hold for us.”

As they made their way through the mass of people, Hermione kept her eyes out for the familiar glowing emerald of her girlfriend’s eyes. It would have been far too long since she last got to gaze into those beautiful things.

They eventually reached the appointed spot, and Hermione noticed the tent next to them was a rich green, and there was the sound of girls laughing from within. As they started setting up their tent, Hermione got so involved in participating and watching the patchwork tent go up that she barely noticed someone approaching her from behind.

She was briefly startled by someone tapping on her shoulder, and she turned around to come face to face with a beautiful pair of emerald green eyes.

“Well, hello there,” Harry crooned. Hermione took several moments to drink up every inch of her girlfriend. The Tiresian Tonic definitely agreed with Harry. Her natural beauty was only magnified by her fashion and makeup choices, and Hermione felt decidedly under-dressed in comparison.

“Earth to Hermione,” Harry said, waving her hands in front of Hermione’s face.

“Sorry,” Hermione said, blushing. “You’re just… _beautiful_,”

“Thank you,” Harry said, hugging her tightly and kissing her cheek. “I’ve missed you!”

“I missed _you_,” Hermione said. “I see Toletania’s been good on you.”

“Oh, like you _wouldn’t believe…_” Harry trailed off, and Hermione looked to see what Harry was staring at. She was watching a dark-haired girl with chilly blue eyes emerging from the tent, glancing around. Harry jerked her head, and the girl looked past Hermione. She smirked and began to walk towards the object of her focus.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, before Harry pulled her close.

“_Draco,_” She whispered into Hermione’s ear and Hermione’s mouth fell open.

…

Ron Weasley was beyond excited. He was at the Quidditch World Cup! He never dreamed in a thousand years he’d get an opportunity to _go to the Quidditch World Cup!_ That was the sort of thing the really rich and really lucky got to do, but this time the fortunes had turned for his dad and he’d gotten enough tickets not just for the family, but for Fred and George’s partners too—he knew he’d see Draco at least once, he’d likely be in the company of his father. Even if they couldn’t go about snogging, well, he’d still find time to talk to him and maybe _snog a bit_.

While he was ruminating on what he’d like to do when he finally saw his boyfriend, he felt a presence come up behind him and slip a pair of soft hands over his eyes.

“Guess who?” A soft, breathy voice crooned in his ear, making him shiver.

“Uh,” Ron started, before he felt someone kiss his neck. “Draco?!”

He whirled around. It was definitely Draco, but _boy was this a different Draco_. His boyfriend was a _girlfriend_ right now and had huge… _Merlin_!

“My eyes are up here, lover boy,” Draco said dryly. “Not that I mind, really,”

“Draco, you…” Ron stammered, gesturing.

“Decided to do something a bit different this time, yeah?” Draco said, taking her boyfriend’s hand in her own. “I hope you’re not _disappointed_?”

“Me? Disappointed? Why the bloody hell would I be disappointed?”

“Just the answer I wanted to hear,” Draco said, before grasping Ron’s head and kissing him deeply. “Merlin, I’ve missed your lips, Ron Weasley. Want to go see if those trees over there are private?”

“You’ve not got to tell me twice,” Ron said, before being yanked away by Draco as they ran off towards the nearby woods.

…

While Ron and Draco went off to shag, probably, Harry was perfectly content to sit and talk with Hermione, enjoying the fact her girlfriend was _staring_ at her like she was an angel. That was something she could most certainly get used to.

She blinked as she noticed Danielle.

“Is that Dani?” Harry asked, and Hermione nodded in response.

“Yeah, Fred invited her to come along with us,” Hermione said. “Cedric’s around here also, somewhere,”

Danielle had noticed them and had walked over, squinting at Harry the entire time. Realization flooded her face as she got close enough to see Harry’s eyes.

“Bloody hell, _that is you, isn’t it, Potter?_” She asked with a gasp.

“Oh that’s right, you… don’t know yet, do you? Uh, I’m a girl,” Harry said with a sheepish grin. “Trying it out for a bit with Tiresian Tonic, I think it suits me quite well, wouldn’t you agree?”

“You look like you stepped off the cover of Witch Weekly,” Danielle said with a snort. “Now I see why you’re so eager to jump her bones, Hermione.”

“Well, not quite as ready to jump her bones as Draco is to jump Ronald’s. They ran off into the forest not too long ago to do… whatever it is they wanted to do,” Hermione said, glancing at the trees in the distance.

“I’m sure they’ll have a great time with that,” Dani said with a shake of her head. “Well, don’t get into any trouble, you two,”

“We won’t,” Harry said with a smile.


	2. Much Ado About Quidditch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Quidditch World Cup! How exciting!

“Hey, Harry,” Pansy said as she approached. “Where’s Draco?”

“In the woods over there, shagging Weasley,” Harry said, gesturing to the treeline Draco and Ron had run off to. “I wager she won’t be back for a good twenty minutes or so,”

“A bit overeager, wasn’t she?” Pansy said, shaking her head. “Draco’s never been one of those to do things by half-measures. I guess I shouldn’t be so shocked—anyway, how was Toletania?”

“Oh, it was relaxing like you wouldn’t believe. For a beautiful two months I was on holiday as nothing more than a rich heiress, loitering about the beachside town like a spoiled princess. It was _to die for._ I’m not sure I’d want to do that all the time, but many once in a while going off and not doing anything for a month…”

“I’m glad to hear you finally got that stick taken out of your arse, Potter,” Pansy said, grinning. “Looking to replace it with something?”

“Pansy!” Hermione nearly shrieked, slapping the other girl on the shoulder. “Mind your business!”

“Look, if I can’t presently tease Weasley and Draco over their relationship, I’m going to tease _you two_ about yours because you’re too cute for this universe,” Pansy said, rolling her eyes. “Take it as a compliment, I promise, it is one. Who d’ya think’s gonna win the match?”

“I think Viktor Krum’ll probably win it for Bulgaria, he’s a proper good player,” Harry said. “It’s what’s made Bulgaria such a tour de force in the cup. They’re usually not this good—they’ve been disqualified by Slezania or Masovia every cup for at least the last two or three—having Krum on the team has really made them the best in show.”

“The Irish team’s gone undefeated, though,” Pansy said. “They’re not exactly pushovers, are they?”

“No, they’re not, but have you seen the Bulgarian beaters? They’re right nasty blokes, from what I’ve heard. Last match against Langobardia during the semis? They put six of the poor bastards in hospital.”

“Was it six? I thought it was five,” Pansy said with a raised eyebrow.

“They found the sixth one had gotten a concussion from a Bludger—got put in hospital after the game,” Harry said.

“Yikes,” Pansy said, shaking her head.

The first day of their stay on the campgrounds had been most fascinating beyond that though—Draco and Ron had come back from their woodland shag and had been thoroughly teased by Pansy and some of the Weasleys for their doe-eyed staring at one another over mealtimes after the fact.

The following morning, the day of the match, and the campgrounds were even more densely packed than Harry had expected. People from all over the globe seemed to be showing up in force for the final match. It really put into perspective just how many magical people there were on Earth.

Before the sun had come up, Harry had gone on a brisk walk around the campgrounds and had heard at least three dozen languages.

She’d first seen a group of Macedonian wizards congregating in a small mass. Their combined campgrounds had been decorated in the familiar blue-and-yellow solar flag of Macedon and the tricolour of Bulgaria. In the spirit of supporting Bulgaria, they had been doing an early morning ritual of good luck by offering food provisions to their Gods. 

It was fascinating to watch, but Harry had moved on to see other things.

A group of kids around Harry’s age were gathered underneath a large banner reading ‘Queen Lili’uokalani Institute of Magic’, listening to a young witch a little older than Harry telling a story reverently in her own language. Harry couldn’t understand a single word of it--but it certainly seemed full of vigor and energy. The rapt attention her fellow students were giving her were also quite intense, and Harry felt like despite the language barrier, she just wanted to sit and listen to it anyway, enjoying the rhythmic intonation and lilt in the story-teller’s voice.

She saw a handful of Toletanians, and heard the familiar Arabic-derived language being used quite harshly and loudly as the father of the family argued with a Ministry official over the legality of his children puttering around on training brooms in open air, risking potential discover by the sole Muggles who lived in the area.

She smiled to herself—the _Quidditch World Cup_ was, as the name put it, genuinely a global event, and it actually warmed her heart that so many people could live in peace and equality for a short period of time in such a dense space. As she continued her circuit around the campgrounds, she heard the familiar language of Yamatai, a language she had been learning on and off since first year.

Diverting her attention toward it, she noticed a family of Yamatai sitting around a simmering camp stove. They were chattering away, with the red-haired girl teasing an older woman with a smirk on her face.

For some reason, Harry couldn’t bear to tear herself away from their presence. After a few moments, one of the older women’s eyes flickered over to her and a smile crossed her face. She beckoned Harry over.

Harry approached, looking down. “I’m sorry for intruding,” She said in the very fragile Yamatai she’d learned.

“It’s quite alright,” the woman said, this time in English. “We always believe in hospitality.” 

She smiled at Harry with a dazzling smile. “Have you eaten yet, child? We’ve got plenty to share. Ranma’s an excellent cook.”

“You’re just bein’ sweet about it, Ma,” The woman named Ranma said, glaring at her mother good-naturedly.

“My name is Yumiko Saotome,” The older woman said, shaking Harry’s hand. “What’s yours?”

“Harry Potter,” Harry said with a shy smile of her own.

Yumiko nodded. “This is my daughter, Ranma,” She said, gesturing to the redhead across the camp stove. She then snaked an arm around the waist of the woman next to her. “And this is my lovely wife, Kaori.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” Harry said with a smile.

“C’mon, Harry Potter,” Ranma said before waving her hand and conjuring a chair up. “We insist you join us.”

Harry got to know this strange family from Japan quite quickly. Kaori and Yumiko had been friends for a very long time and had been married for close to seven years now; and Ranma had been from Yumiko’s first marriage. The topic of Yumiko’s first wife had been dodged like a Killing Curse as everyone seemed to darken at the mention of the person in question.

Harry knew better than to pry, and let the matter drop. Something did seem quite familiar about them, though. She wasn’t sure _why_, though. Ranma had a very bright pair of glowing _aqua_ eyes, and Yumiko had a pair of slate eyes that seemed to glow as well. Each time Harry stared them in the eyes, it felt like she was looking into the sun.

The conversation had carried on for long enough where a bleary-eyed blue-haired woman popped out from the tent in front of them and plopped down next to Ranma, yawning. A cup of tea appeared in front of her and she accepted it graciously, planting a kiss on Ranma’s cheek.

“Harry, I’d like for you to meet my wife, Akane,” Ranma said, grinning. “Love of my life, and all that sappy nonsense,”

“You’re such a Casanova, Ranma,” Akane said, rolling her eyes and punching her wife in the arm. “It’s definitely not your skills in flirting that made me love you, that much is for sure.”

“How are the kids?” Ranma asked, eyebrow raised.

“They’re still dead asleep, Great-Grandmother seemed to know just the trick to get them to quiet down.”

“Of course she did, that old crone would be able to put an entire nation to sleep with magic,” Ranma said wryly, before a wooden stave fell swiftly upon the redhead’s head, causing her to rub her head in annoyance. “Ow, I had a feeling she’d heard that,”

“Of course I did,” a wry, old woman said, giving Ranma a side-eye. “You’re lucky I like you so much, Ranma.”

“You don’t just like me, you loooove me, you old bat,” Ranma said.

“Hmpf,” the woman said, sniffing. “Arrogant whelp.”

“Oh, uh, Great-Grandmother, this is Harry Potter. Harry Potter, this is Great-Grandmother, Elder Cologne of the Joketsuzoku.”

“Joketsuzoku? You mean that tribe of witches out in the heart of Cathay?” Harry asked, blinking. She’d ended up checking out and reading _A History of East Asian Magic_ at Hogwarts and had learned a bit about the supposed ‘Much-Feared Amazons of the East’.

“The very same,” Cologne said with a grin. “Harry Potter, is it? I must say, your… fame has spread quite far. We’ve heard many tales about the young wix who survived a direct killing curse.”

“Aw, bloody hell. I’d have hoped you wouldn’t have known about that,” Harry said, rubbing her forehead. “I don’t like the publicity involved with it.”

“I don’t intend to start a fracas over it, child,” Cologne said. “It’s quite a pleasure to meet you, either way.”

Harry had gotten even _more stories_ about the particular ward of Edo the Saotome family came from, along with some of their adventures with the Joketsuzoku Elder. Something about a flying ox beast, a girl with age mushrooms, and a brief war between a magical tribe of people and the Joketsuzoku that ended with a mountain being destroyed.

Once she’d been fed, she’d been forced to promise to keep in contact with them, as they quite liked her and felt a strange connection, and then she was sent on her way to meet up with her family. When she arrived back at camp, she saw a concerned Hermione waiting for her.

“Harry! There you are, I’ve been worried sick!” She exclaimed. “You left this morning without saying anything!”

“Sorry, my dear,” Harry said, kissing her girlfriend’s cheek. “I just wanted to walk around and sample the culture. There’s so many people here from all over the world, it’s insane. I ran into this family of Yematai and… it was _weird_, I felt this strange… magnetism toward them. They were interesting as all get out, though. It was like staring at distilled, unrefined chaos magic.”

“Oh, chaos magic! How fascinating!” Hermione said, brightening up.

“And they were doing magic without wands,” Harry said. “I’ve never thought that was possible before now, really weird.”

“Some cultures are like that, from what I’ve read,” Hermione said. “It’s not terribly common in Europe, though.”

…

By the evening time, the campgrounds had become an insatiable well of excitement, with thousands of people thronging about, many of them salesmen trying to pawn their collective baubles off on an unsuspecting public.

Harry had been fascinated enough to buy two pairs of Omnioculars, one for herself and one for her girlfriend. Draco had done much the same for herself and Ron, though Ron had turned red-eared and started to protest, before being silenced by a swift kiss from Draco.

“I’d have thought you’d fancied the idea of being spoiled by your lover,” Draco said, purring into Ron’s ear; Ron’s annoyed red-faced attitude disintegrated and he melted like putty. 

By the end of it, everyone’s money bags were just a tinge lighter—and everyone felt a little more in the festive spirit. The Weasley family were decked out head-to-toe in the colors of Ireland, while Harry, Draco and their group had either foregone the ostentatious display of favoritism, or had small Ireland _and_ Bulgaria decorations on them.

A great gong rang out across the field, signaling that everyone should begin to file into the arena for the game. Narcissa, Minerva, Rolanda, Harry, Hermione and Draco had middle of the stack seats, not quite the “commentator nosebleeds” of the Weasley family, nor was it the Minister’s private box that Draco’s father would attend, given his stature as a close advisor to the Minister for Magic.

Draco had caught sight of her father and nearly froze up in shock, only to be tugged along by Harry, who whispered placations into her ear. “Don’t worry,” Harry said with a murmur. “He can’t do anything to you here.”

Draco had relaxed some and had hugged Harry tightly. “I don’t know why I’ve become so _afraid of him_,”

“Your mum isn’t even 30 yet, and he’s… much older than that,” Harry said quietly. “Your old man’s… pretty fucking evil, if I might speak so openly, Dray.”

Draco lowered her head in shame, and Harry nudged her sharply. “You’re not your father, Malfoy. Quit it—you’re your own person now, and you’ll be a damn good one if you keep your eyes on the goal.”

“Thanks, Harry,” Draco said quietly. “You’re my best friend,”

“And you mine, you tramp,” Harry said serenely, smirking as Draco gaped at her.

"_Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished guests… welcome!_" The voice of Ludo Bagman, the Head of the Games Committee for the Ministry, echoed out over the stadium. "Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"

The spectators roared in anticipation, flags and national anthems surged up in swells of nationalistic pride, and Harry felt a little overwhelmed by the whole thing, but deeply enraptured.

The huge blackboard in the stadium which had been displaying advertising the entire time, was wiped clear of its last message, advertising Bertie Bott’s Every-Flavor Beans, in favor of the scoreboard—now reading _BULGARIA: ZERO, EIRE: ZERO_.

“And now, without further ado,” Bagman’s voice carried. “The Bulgarian team mascots!”

Harry watched in wonder as suddenly, groups of women… or something close to women, emerged onto the field. Harry felt a sudden change in the mood in the stadium, and could see various men being nearly cloistered off the railings of their seats as they tried their best to get to the beautiful women.

“What the devil is going on?” Harry asked, and Draco quirked her mouth.

“They’re Veela,” She said, annoyed. “They make men go gaga and lose their minds, basically. It’s kind of their thing, allure magic.”

“Well that’s pants,” Harry said intently. “Guess they had no effect on us since we’re lasses right now, but what if we’d still been blokes?”

“Eh,” Draco said. “I wouldn’t worry about it much, right? I doubt it’d have much of an effect on us regardless.”

Immediately after the Veela had finished their little dance routine and nearly killed the entire male population of the stadium, the Irish mascots had taken the field—this one was a great green and gold comet that hurtled through the stadium, filling the sky with fireworks galore, and then soon after, gold began to rain from the sky into the open air arena seating.

“Leprechaun gold,” Draco said, taking one in her hand. Examining it closely, Harry noticed that it was very much not a Galleon—the face on the cover bore a stereotypical leprechaun (she idly wondered if the Ulsterians and Dyflinners took offense to the stereotype) and had something written in Irish Gaelic.

“It’ll be gone by morning,” Draco said, flipping the coin back onto the floor. “Utterly worthless, really.”

Harry got great use out of the Omnioculars as the teams took to the field, getting nice freeze-frame looks at each player taking the field on their gleaming Firebolts.

The match itself was a heated back and forth with no holds barred. Intense gameplay that made Harry quaver a bit—the sort of play they had at Hogwarts seemed like a slow training match compared to this. She most certainly knew she did _not_ want to go into the professionals later in life. That was only for the daring and the criminally insane.

The thing Harry had wanted to see the most finally happened while Ireland had a thirty-ten lead. Viktor Krum and his Irish competitor, Lynch, had gone into a freefall dive in the middle of the pitch, hurtling towards the Earth at a breakneck pace.

“He’s doing it—the Wronski feint!” Draco said, slapping Harry’s arm.

“Yes, I see it, Draco,” Harry said, batting away her friend’s arm.

“They’re going to crash!” Hermione exclaimed, looking mortified.

“Half-right,” Harry murmured, as Viktor Krum, ever the excellent Seeker, pulled out of the dive and spiralled off at the last second, leaving Lynch to collide with the Earth at a bone-shattering speed. A groan rose from the Irish fans, and a whistle echoed across the pitch.

“_It’s a time-out!"_ Bagman said.”_Trained mediwizards are now attending to Aidan Lynch..._"

The match continued after Lynch had been examined and his bones repaired. Shaking it off with a remarkable sort of thing that Harry only ever saw in wix (and what a _shame_ it was that Muggles couldn’t just shake off injuries like that!), and continued playing.

The match carried on for some time longer, before Lynch and Krum got into another furious diving match, this time it seemed a lot less like a feint and more like... _yes_, Harry spotted the little golden snitch fluttering around directly in the path of both Seekers. Krum’s hand closed around it, and he looked quite reserved as he slowed to a stop.

Roars rose up from the crowd, before the realities of the scoreboard above their heads became clear. Eire had beaten Bulgaria by _ten_ points. The deafening roar from the Irish fans had been unbelievable, though Krum seemed in good spirits about the whole thing, shaking Lynch’s hand.

Harry thought the match had gone quite well. Things seemed to be _going quite well_. Maybe she’d keep that up through the school term, and not have any serious annoyances this year.

...

Oh.

How wrong she’d been.

She’d been roused in the middle of the night by a panicked Arthur Weasley, who had told them to get outside quickly, forgetting anything else and moving now.

Being back in her male form was kind of a gross change, but she had very little time to process _that_ complex set of emotions.

Harry had emerged into the field to find absolute chaos, fires burning, and the sight of people marching through the trampled tents, their heads covered by black hoods and their faces covered by brass masks. Harry winced as she saw the two Muggle caretakers of the field they’d been staying on being tortured by Death Eaters.

Harry had taken a natural leadership of leading the younger people and Narcissa out into the woods, away from the Death Eaters. With a strong talent in defensive magic, she felt more than confident she’d be able to keep at least one Death Eater from getting any advantage over her.

She hoped.

Really. That was all she had going for her right now.

She was finally put to task when one of the masked Death Eaters had somehow blundered across them, or had followed them—or something.

She’d picked up the man before he’d entered the clearing, and so before the masked man could even get the first syllables of the Killing Curse on his tongue, and before Draco, Hermione, Narcissa or Pansy could get their wands up, Harry had unleashed a rather vicious set of curses, sending the man flying backwards into a nearby tree, and collapsing in a limp pile of robes.

Narcissa closed her eyes and shook her head as she approached the man. Nudging him once to see if he was unconscious, she reached down and plucked away the mask from his face. Lucius Malfoy was clear as day behind the mask, a bit of blood trickling from his mouth from where he’d likely bitten his tongue.

“Oh, bloody fuck,” Draco said, looking sick.

“Lucius, you _dumb_ bastard,” Narcissa said, grimacing.

Just then, a group of Aurors emerged from the trees, wands brandished.

“Wands where we can see ’em, now!”

Harry squinted and noticed the Auror in question who was brandishing their wand at them aggressively was none other than Nymphadora Tonks.

“Wotcher, Tonks,” Harry said dryly. “Seems you lot are just a bit late,”

Tonks glanced down at the unconscious Malfoy patriarch and raised an eyebrow. “I should say so—who knocked the, erm, Death Eater out?”

Harry wiggled her wand in the air. “There’s an exemption in the Underage Use of Magic Statute that permits the use of magic in self-defence.” She said, with a slight, sheepish grin.

“D’ya think he’ll get off with the Imperious defence again?” Tonks asked as she waved her wand and picked the now unconscious Malfoy up off the ground. “Seems a bit shady he’s been nicked twice doing Death Eatery things.”

“No, I assure you, my husband will be _fully_ cooperative with the Ministry in their investigations,” Narcissa said dryly, rubbing her eyes in annoyance.

“Right, then. The situation is mostly under control now,” Tonks said. “We’ll be heading back to the Ministry now, you lot are safe to go back, just be vigilant. Just... ignore the giant fucking snake,”

“Right,” Narcissa said before glancing at Harry who shrugged.

The trek back to the campgrounds was done in silence. Harry was totally unsure how Draco and Narcissa were taking the realization that Lucius had gone back to his Dark Lord without hesitation. She knew that the Death Eater attack would be the epicentre of a public relations scandal for days or weeks to come.

At the campgrounds, they’d realized what Tonks meant by ‘_giant fucking snake_’. The Death Eater calling card was lingering over the campgrounds, and Harry grimaced—did she say a public relations scandal? She meant a _public relations MELTDOWN._

After all was said and done, the Weasleys plus Danielle and Cedric had retreated back to the Burrow via Portkey, while Narcissa, Minerva, Rolanda and Harry apparated everyone in their party back to the McGonagall-Hooch Cottage in Scotland.

“I can’t believe I let Albus talk me into letting you learn to apparate at 13,” Minerva said as they landed outside the edge of their property. Harry only gave her mother an apologetic glance as they approached the front door.

Sirius was still on a mandatory ‘mental health’ retreat organized by St. Mungo’s, and wouldn’t return from Persea for another six or seven weeks. Harry missed her godfather terribly, but understood it was for the best when it came to his mental health and condition—so the house was pretty much empty for the moment save for when Minerva and Rolanda were present. 

Harry was quite pleased to be home again. She enjoyed her stay at the Malfoy Estate in Toletania, but nothing beat the rustic quality of the homestead.

They entered the house and claimed seats in the sitting room and looked at each other expectantly.

“So, what now?” Harry asked, and Narcissa folded her hands and shrugged.

“I divorce Lucius on the grounds that he’s a criminal, seize his fortune and everything he holds dear, ensure he’s locked away in Azkaban for the rest of his natural life, and then maybe find a new man.”

“That’s my Mother,” Draco said dryly. “Always making the easiest choices.”

“Oh, like you enjoy your father’s presence, Draco,” Narcissa said, rolling her eyes. “Do you _want_ to become a Death Eater?”

“No! Of course not,” Draco said shaking his head violently. “You’re right, Father’s a _monster_.”

“I was trained from childhood to be his wife, of course he’s a monster,” Narcissa said coldly, giving her son a side-eye, and Draco blanched, his mother had a strong point. She... wasn’t even thirty yet, and here he was about to turn fourteen.

Gross.

...

It had been quickly decided that all the youngsters would stay with Minerva and Rolanda until the first of September—Hermione’s parents had graciously permitted it as they wouldn’t be back in England until later in September; Pansy’s parents agreed, as part of their effort to insulate their daughter from the growing Death Eater sympathy in the pureblood community, and it was true to form that Draco and Narcissa, for now, had nowhere else to go.

The four teenagers had ended up bunking all-together in Harry’s room, while Narcissa slept on the fold-out couch in the living room. It wasn’t an entirely unpleasant experience.

Regardless of her sleeping conditions, Narcissa had gone to the Ministry and Gringotts the very next day (once Lucius’ arrest was well-publicized and emblazoned across the front-page of the Daily Prophet) and had demanded an immediate beginning to the process of divorce. 

What that meant was that Lucius would forfeit his wealth to his wife for violations of their marriage agreement, and the fact that she was still expected to provide for his heir since he was no longer capable of it (looking at most certainly, a criminal conviction).

Gringotts had frozen the Malfoy vaults immediately, but had refused to give her control until such a time that Lucius was convicted by the Wizengamot (one of those frustrating control bylaws in the treatises they signed with the Ministry ages ago)—but the Ministry had most certainly allowed her to begin the process on the grounds of failure to fulfil a contract of betrothal (as rare as those were these days, really); while pending further rulings on the outcome of Lucius’ trial.

It was grating to be stopped up, but she’d accepted it.

She also decided to step back into her role as a member of the House of Black. She sent off multiple letters to Sirius from his court-mandated ‘mental wellness’ stay asking for his blessing to step into the role of Family Steward, and granting her written authorization to assume that position.

She’d also explained in her letter what she intended to do right away.

Sirius, beside himself with amusement at Narcissa’s swift return to form, agreed whole-heartedly.

By the time Harry and Draco set off for Hogwarts, their extended family had changed a bit. 

The Black family had seized the Lestrange vaults (under Bylaw 67-331 of the Magical Relations Act of 1731, wherein persons convicted under the Charter of the Ministry for Magic could have their fortunes seized by the parent dynasty of their cadet branch)—The specific law in question had been written in a time where noble marriages, political alliances and aristocratic favours had been in-trend, but it had been rarely used by the 1990s. 

It had fallen so far out of favor that Sirius Black’s much publicized arrest hadn’t even twigged the slightest thought to invoke the law to fatten the Malfoy or Ministry coffers. That, and nobody would have been able to pull out the requisite documentation to prove the person in question was a convicted criminal, given the little documentation there existed.

But with Bellatrix Lestrange (and the late Rodolphus and Rabastan) being documented convicted criminals and professed Death Eaters, the Ministry and Gringotts had approved the move, and the Lestrange Vault was seized by the Black family. 

All of those associated with her were then posthumously or concurrently evicted from the family line, restoring the family to “purity” in a manner of speaking.

She privately reinstated the Tonks family into the Black family on her cousin’s behalf, entirely on the premise that it was the proper thing to do, and that Andromeda deserved right to access the family vaults should she need them. That and it would spit in the eye of the people in the family who had long looked down on Muggle interlopers and Muggleborns.

She wasn’t able to do much else with the Black family accounts, but it was a fantastic start. 

She couldn’t yet drop her married name (and she wasn’t sure _Draco_ would want to drop his surname in favour of Black) until the divorce was finalized, but at the rate the Ministry was going in order to rectify a lot of the oversights during the last war, she was sure Lucius would be condemned to prison by All Hallow’s Eve.

She looked forward to _that_ with intense anticipation.

...

Harry looked at the owl that had landed on her window-sill. Accepting the parchment from it and offering it some treats in payment, she opened the script and noticed it was from the Weasley twins.

_Harry,_

_We know you’re quite the progressive Slytherin. Cunning to boot, and very ambitious. We were wondering if you would be willing to meet with two young businessmen looking for a proper patron to help us spread mischief and mayhem to all sorts of new generations._

_Regards,  
Messrs. Frederick and George Weasley_

Harry raised her eyebrow. What sort of _tosh_ did the Weasley twins think they were sending her? She sighed and penned a quick response.

“_August 31st; meet me at the Rosedale Café in Wulver’s Hollow. I’ll listen to your proposals. -HP_”

The day before the start of the term, Harry sat down in the familiar Rosedale Café in her hometown and flipped through the menu idly. She’d been here at least a hundred times in her younger years.

“I know you’re not looking through that,” An older woman said, and Harry flashed the matron a grin.

“Of course not, Bess. You know what I like,” Harry said with a pleased smile on her face.

“You’ve been comin’ here since you was a wee sprog, of course I know what you like,” Bess said. “Meetin’ someone?”

“Yeah, two blokes from school—I guess they’ve got a business proposition for me,” Harry said with a shrug. “I’ll hear ’em out, I guess. Worst I can say is no, right?”

“Right!” Bess said with a grin. “Be back in two shakes with your meal, Harry.”

“Thanks,” Harry said idly as she checked to make sure she had the sickles and knuts to pay for her meal.

Suddenly, the two red-haired Weasley boys entered the diner and spotted Harry. Sitting down across from her, they both looked quite uncomfortable and unprepared.

“You both said you had something to propose to me?”

“Right, yes,” Fred said, sheepishly grinning. “My dear brother and I have been thinking about it for a long time and we really want to get a business started. Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes! The finest purveyors of joke products on the planet!”

“What makes you better than Zonko’s?” Harry asked, glancing at Fred with a curious look.

“Zonko’s went industrial,” George replied for his brother. “They’ve got no _innovation_ left in their bones, they mostly crank out the same products they’ve been making since our parents went to Hogwarts. We’re working on new products, like these crèmes we’ve got in development that’ll make you sprout canary feathers all over your body.”

“And a whole bunch of other things, really,” Fred contributed.

The better part of two hours was spent with George and Fred elaborating on what they had in mind for their nascent business. A mail-order business was a good start, and Harry felt that Dumbledore would have very little problem with them doing it, given he seemed quite happy to enjoy their pranks.

“I’d tell you to talk to Mum first, but she’d probably have a fit over it,” Harry said. “How much money were you looking to _get_ from me, exactly?”

“About a hundred galleons,” Fred said. “We bet on the World Cup final with Ludo Bagman, but he paid us in leprechaun gold and it all vanished. We lost our savings and the like. We didn’t tell Mum because she’d never let us live it down,”

“A hundred? That’s it?” Harry asked, raising one of her eyebrows.

“_That’s it_, he says,” Fred said, looking bewildered. “Merlin’s saggy left ball.”

“I... was left a lot of money by my parents, okay?” Harry said with a frown. She always felt self-conscious about how much money she had. 

“Either way, you two are my favourite Gryffindors, so I’ll sign up,” She said. “I’ll have Dobby bring you the hundred Galleons, okay?”

“You’re so nice, Harry,” Fred and George said together, with a grin.

“Well thank you. I try to be, but you know sometimes I’m filled with the compulsion to kill Gryffindors,” Harry said dryly, earning laughs from the two twins.

“You show immense restraint, then,” Fred said with a smirk.


	3. Anxiety: Such A Fickle Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry learns what's going to happen at Hogwarts this year. Anxiety follows.

Harry sat down with her friends and let out a suffering sigh.

“Mum told me everything,” She said, glancing at Draco, Pansy and Hermione. 

“It’s the Triwizard Tournament. This competition between Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang for money and glory…” She spoke mockingly. “It hasn’t been held since 1792 because of the fact that students keep _dying in it_, but the Ministry for Magic has basically stood on Dumbledore and Mum’s toes to make them comply with its revival.”

“Are they daft?” Draco asked, looking outraged. “Someone’s going to get hurt!”

“Or worse, killed,” Hermione said, grimacing herself.

“Mum assured me they’re putting in strict age limitations, you’ve got to be seventeen years of age or older at the end of the term to qualify,” Harry said, though entirely unconvinced. “But something tells me that won’t be entirely true. I’d say it’s just the pessimist in me but let’s face it, I’m naught for three on bad things happening to me while at Hogwarts.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione said, looking nervously at her girlfriend.

“That somebody’s going to get one past all the professors and shove my name into the running,” Harry said, plainly. “I’m hoping not but you know…”

“Let’s _hope not_ because I cannot be held liable for Dark Arts I may practice from that point on,” Draco said with a raised eyebrow, hugging his legs. “You’ve got to have a moment’s peace, aye?”

“So the most important part, really,” Harry continued shaking her head. “There’s going to be a Yule Ball for the Triwizard Tournament. With dancing and all that sort of thing. Apparently there’s going to be mandatory dancing lessons with Head of House, and all sorts of other nonsense to go along with it.”

“Dancing lessons? _With Professor Snape?_” Draco asked, looking gobsmacked.

“Oh, it’ll be delightfully awkward, but I want you to imagine for just a moment, Ron Weasley being forced to dance with my mother in a very slow, traditional dance,” Harry said, voice deadly serious.

“Oh, Merlin’s left tit, I’d pay to see that,” Draco wheezed.

“Right. But here’s the worst part of it all,” Harry said, frowning. “Quidditch _is cancelled_.”

“WHAT?!” Draco squawked. “They can’t cancel Quidditch! What a bunch of-”

“Apparently, one of the tasks is supposed to take place on the Quidditch pitch, and it requires months of intricate work before it’d be ready,” Harry said, frowning. “I’m a bit put off they basically put the Quidditch season on ice for an entire year, but that’s fine, whatever,”

Even Pansy and Hermione, neither of whom particularly enjoyed playing the sport themselves, looked a bit put off at the sudden cancellation of a pastime that had decades of tradition.

…

The following morning had been a bit of a fracas to get off to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters and onto the train to Hogwarts. Once they’d sorted themselves out and had made it there, and once they had found an empty compartment, Harry, Hermione, Draco and Pansy dumped themselves into it. Just before eleven, as the train was preparing to depart, the Weasley family finally boarded the train.

Ron arrived and squeezed into the compartment, which enlarged itself just enough to fit the newcomer, and the redhead dropped next to Draco, snaking his arms around his boyfriend.

As the train set off for Scotland, there were a few other friends who checked in. Neville poked his head in and seemed in quite good spirits, Daphne poked her head in, as did Astoria, Theodore and Blaise.

Fred and George Weasley (plus their paramours) had also dropped by, and the twins had presented Harry with an order form stamped with _Special Request_ in shining blue ink at the top.

“Specifically for you and you alone, dear Harry,” Fred said with a grin. “Complements of Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes.”

“Are you two still on that? I thought Mum would’ve put the fear of Mordred in you two with all the shouting,” Ron said, before he turned to his friends. “They bet all their savings with Ludo Bagman, and Mum went absolutely bonkers when she heard about it, poor Dad got caught in the middle of it,”

Ron turned towards his brothers. “How the ruddy hell’d you two get the money for it?” He asked.

“We found a wise investor,” Fred said with a smile. “A cunning, ambitious snake with a long lineage of mischief in their family,”

George gave Harry a grin. “Sirius told us all about the Marauders,” He said, gushing. “I can’t believe they actually had kids! And one of ’em’s Harry Potter! Bleeding hell, we were surprised, too; Mum was going to kill Sirius after he was done telling us some stories of his pranks. What legends, they are,”

Harry gave George a lopsided grin. She did agree—all the Marauders were quite cool… except for the one bloke who betrayed his friends and got them killed, may he rot in jail forever that rat-faced cunt…

She focused herself back on the here and now, as Fred and George left to return to their compartment they shared with Lee Jordan. Cedric went the other direction, heading to the Prefect’s Compartment.

Eventually, they arrived at Hogsmeade, and the older students climbed into the thestral-drawn carriages that would lead them up to the castle. Harry’s mind was a little preoccupied with the growing mess of anxiety in her stomach, and it wasn’t helped by the clammy, cold dampness that stuck around her as the rain came down in buckets.

She always loved Hogwarts as a little kid, but now, with three years of nonsense behind her, it just represented this existential dread that someone was trying to kill her, to remove the last obstacle to a fascist dictatorship.

She really needed to get more hobbies, or something.

…

Harry was amused, but not quite amused enough to not want to commit murder. Peeves had thought it funny to start lobbing water balloons at people, and Harry had witnessed her mother chasing down the poltergeist like she was a priest preparing to perform an exorcism.

The older students settled down in the warm and toasty Great Hall, where Dumbledore had wisely set up charms to dry the students as they passed the threshold. Harry went from feeling like a drowned rat to feeling like she’d just come out of a hot oven. In fact, her clothes sort of smelled like a bakery now. That was an interesting side-effect of the charm. She’d have to ask Dumbledore a bit about that later.

Harry glanced up at the slightly-emptier Staff Table and noticed a new face.

“Yep, there’s Gilderoy Lockhart alright,” Harry said, shaking her head. “Am I wrong for not believing half of the things he’s done in his bloody books? Seems awfully adventurous for a dandy.”

“Right?” Blaise said, leaning in. “My mum said that he’s a liar and a scoundrel, and that only the basest, vainest of sorts actually believe the shite that’s wrote in ’em. Perhaps Dumbledore’s hired him to actually let the curse do its thing,”

“You mean kill the poor bastard? I wouldn’t want that. He might be a pillock and a fraud, but he doesn’t deserve _to die,_”

In fact, Lockhart’s usual over-excited exuberance was just a bit tempered by a pale, clammy disposition. He looked rather sick, actually. Harry shrugged, it was that time of the year, and all, and so she dismissed it.

After a rather droll and unexciting sort of sorting ceremony (Harry hardly ever cared these days, though she had noted that the number of first-generation wix that had joined Slytherin was… at an all-time high thanks to her and Hermione’s presence. Snape had even told her so directly, saying it was a very strange sort of thing to start happening right after they arrived)

She watched Ron nearly coat Neville in Yorkshire pudding and the subsequent backhanding over the head he’d gotten from George for it. Ron had glanced at Draco very briefly, who was locked in a conversation with Theodore, and had wiped his mouth and ducked down, eating much more cleanly.

The feast dragged on for a bit, and Harry enjoyed the mélange of things in front of her, choosing a rather thick and juicy steak and some sides that complemented it quite well, followed up by some chocolate gateau afterwards. Once it was done, the plates cleared and Dumbledore rose to his feet.

“As usual, I have a few start-of-term announcements,” Dumbledore said with a smile. “First order of business—we are welcoming Mister Gilderoy Lockhart, esteemed author, to serve as our Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher this school term,”

Gilderoy stood up and gave a gleaming smile to the audience, though it didn’t seem to land as solidly, given the pale and sweaty complexion he had right now.

“Secondly, Mister Filch, our caretaker, has requested of me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden inside the castle has been extended to include Screaming Yo-Yos, Fanged Frisbees, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list comprises some four-hundred and thirty-seven items, and can be viewed at your leisure in Mister Filch’s office,” He said, and his lips twitched in amusement.

“As well,” He continued. “I would remind all students that the Forbidden Forest is, as the name implies, forbidden to all students who do not wish to die a most violent death—and that the village of Hogsmeade is forbidden to all students below third-year. As well, I regret to inform you that this year, the inter-house Quidditch Cup, will not take place.”

The Great Hall erupted into loud murmurs and protestations, filling the quiet air with a din of dissatisfaction. Dumbledore waved his hands for quiet. “This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing through the remainder of the school year—taking up much of available time and energy. I have been assured you will enjoy it immensely. I have the great pleasure that this year at Hogwarts, we will be hosting the Triwizard Tournament.”

“You’re JOKING!” Fred Weasley shouted, standing up and looking shocked. He seemed cowed by the glare Minerva gave him, and sunk back into his seat.

“The Triwizard Tournament, yes, ahem,” Dumbledore began. “A friendly competition between three European schools of magic—Beauxbatons, Durmstrang and Hogwarts. One champion each has always been selected from these schools, and they compete with one another for the right to fame and glory, and a rather sizable prize.”

Letting that sink in and getting people’s hopes up, Dumbledore went in for the kill.

“It was originally on a five-year cycle, but was cancelled in the late 18th century due to the high death toll,” Dumbledore finished, looking quite pleased with himself, as many students who looked intrigued drooped.

Harry could tell Dumbledore was unhappy with being forced to comply, and had opposed reviving the tournament quite voraciously—he was usually not as succinct and scathing in his remarks.

“The selection of the three champions will be on Halloween,” Dumbledore said, briefly making eye contact with Harry that lingered for a moment longer than she felt entirely comfortable with, before looking out at the crowds. “We will be placing an age restriction on entrance into the tournament. That is to say, you must be seventeen years of age or older upon the completion of this school year to qualify,”

There was murmuring, before everything quieted down again.

“The delegations from the other two schools will be arriving in October, and remaining with us until the end of the Tournament in June. I know that you will all extend Hogwarts hospitality to them while they are here, and give your whole-hearted support to the Hogwarts champion when he or she is selected. Now, it is late, and I encourage you to sleep well and prepare for your lessons in the morning. Bedtime!”

As they went down into the Slytherin dungeons, Harry shook her head. “Why on Earth anybody would want to compete in such a death-trap is beyond me,” She said, looking bewildered.

“Some people really fancy the fame and fortune thing, Harry,” Draco said. “Not everyone’s a humble servant of the divines like you are, Miss Girl-Who-Lived,”

“Shut it, Malfoy,” Harry murmured.

When they arrived, Harry made her way to her dorm, only to find that it had changed… _slightly_. It looked more like a fancier version of a Hogwarts dorm room, but with two queen-sized beds. She noticed Hermione’s trunk sitting at the foot of one of them.

“Uh?” Harry asked nobody in particular.

“I was just about to ask the same thing,” Hermione said, causing Harry to whirl around.

“Those House-Elves have such a funny sense of humour,” Hermione said, frowning as she sat down on her bed. “I guess we’re bunking together?”

“I suppose we are,” Harry said, shrugging. Unclipping her belt, she tossed her trousers off into the nearby hamper. It wasn’t that big of a deal, they’d already spent plenty of time sleeping in the same bedroom as it was.

“I’m okay with it if you are,” Hermione said as she pulled her blouse off and set it inside the hamper. “You’re not the world’s worst roommate, and I suppose we both are mature enough to-”

“It’s fine by me,” Harry said, cutting her off. “This doesn’t create an expectation that we’ve got to… y’know, be together sexually. Just ’cause Ron and Draco have gone and done it, doesn’t mean we’ve got to. I’m perfectly happy taking this slow with you and just enjoying your presence and plenty of cuddling.”

Hermione smiled at her girlfriend warmly. “You’re such a sweetheart, Harry,” She said, hugging her closely.

“Thanks,” Harry replied, grinning.

Once they’d cleared that whole thing up, Harry had very little on her mind other than sleep as she brushed her teeth, changed into one of her nightshirts, and crashed into her blankets like a meteorite.

“G’night, Hermione,” Harry murmured into her pillow.

“Good night, Harry,” Hermione said from her bed. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Harry murmured in response.

…

The first proper day of the term was a Friday. 

At breakfast, she put it all of her anxieties to one side when the Daily Prophet arrived, continuing the ever evolving chronicle of the impending trial of Lucius Malfoy. It was painful to watch Draco have to go through it with his father being so publicly humiliated and put on trial for high crimes, particularly whenever a snide comment had gotten thrown at him over it.

Harry noticed the author of the article and raised an eyebrow. “Bartemius Crouch, Jr? What happened to Rita Skeeter? I thought that she was the chief correspondent?” She asked.

“Rita Skeeter disappeared over summer, without a trace,” Blaise said, looking a bit haunted. For some of the Slytherins, it was entirely known what organization or group of people had that sort of MO--and most of their parents happened to be members of the organization.

“Nobody knows what happened to her, but then Barty Crouch Jr. was found in his old man’s cellar being under Imperious. Crouch Sr. got filed off to Azkaban and Barty got set free, ended up joining the Daily Prophet not long after,” Blaise said, shrugging.

Professor Snape descended from his perch at the Staff Table to disseminate the schedules, and Harry had noted that her usual two hours weekly with Professor Dumbledore would continue, but that Fridays would be bookended by two hours of Defence Against the Dark Arts, and two hours of Potions. Not the most ideal schedule, but she figured she could survive two days a week of _Professor Lockhart_.

She found she was incredibly _wrong_.

Professor Lockhart had been a pompous windbag the entire time, forcing them to take a quiz about _him_ and his many accomplishments, including such nonsense questions as “What gift would you give Gilderoy Lockhart” and “what is his favourite colour”. Utter tosh, and Harry felt like burning the quiz right there in the classroom, but she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

She hated the man already with his glory-hound behaviour, a far cry from her own invested effort in humility. He had tried a few times to offer her “help” in building her brand recognition and a few other things, to which she had smoothly declined.

After a disastrous two-hour lesson in which Lockhart failed to demonstrate even the most fundamental iota of knowledge as a Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, Harry trudged her way up to the Headmaster’s office, feeling utterly gutted.

“Lemon sherbet,” Harry muttered, before passing by the gargoyles and climbing the stairs to the office.

“Ah, good morning, Harry,” Dumbledore said with a smile. “How has the first day of the term been going for you?”

“Terribly. Professor Lockhart is a _moron_,” Harry said in annoyance. “Did you know he gave us a quiz that was full of useless information that’ll get nobody nowhere on their bloody OWLs?”

Dumbledore nodded, shaking his head. “I must apologize, Harry. Things have gotten quite out of control this summer. He was the only applicant we had for the Defence job, Remus refused to return for another year, citing that he had gotten lucky and didn’t want to be exposed as a werewolf—if I hadn’t gotten someone, the Ministry would’ve likely stuck whatever stooge they wanted here, and I simply cannot _allow_ that without some resistance,” He said, rubbing his eyes. “To make matters worse, I was trying to talk the Ministry out of this Triwizard nonsense, and failed at that as well.”

Dumbledore leaned back and sighed. “I’m glad we set an age limit—though I would never expect you to sign up for it anyway.”

“No thanks, Headmaster. I’ve been nearly killed three years running, don’t want to add ‘joining dangerous tournament’ to the list. I was hoping this year’d be calm and peaceful, but I’m startin’ to think that’s not what’s gonna happen,” Harry said, rubbing the back of her neck.

Dumbledore sighed. “Moving to more pleasant things—how has your nonverbal casting been going? I understand you got into a bit of a scrape with Lucius Malfoy at the Quidditch World Cup.”

“Oh, aye, right, the pillock ambushed me, Draco, Hermione, Pansy and Draco’s mum in the forest. Before he could fire a killing curse at me, I blasted him into a tree.”

Dumbledore cracked a wry smile and seemed pleased. “You’re doing so well, Harry. I can only imagine the sort of things you’d get up to with your proper wand and not this substitute.”

“It’s mostly behaving itself now,” Harry said, glancing at her wand. “It’s a little resistant sometimes, but it seems to do what I need it to do.”

“That’s all we could have hoped for,” Dumbledore said. “Now, if you’d please, I would like you to demonstrate your wandless casting for me.”

Harry nodded and went through the processes. She silently set a nearby stool on fire, extinguished it, slashed it into pieces, and then repaired it, seamlessly without saying a word. She peered at the Headmaster expectantly and the old man had a grin the size of a football pitch on his face.

“Very good, Harry! Dear girl, if I didn’t think it’d get me committed, I’d offer _you_ the job as Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. You’d probably do a better job than Gilderoy Lockhart.”

“Maybe when I’m an adult,” Harry said, jokingly. “In the meantime, Professor, I’m going to sit down with Hermione and think of some solutions we can do to... avoid the pitfalls of having a professor who’s more interested in his appearance and fame than actually doing his bloody job.”

...

“Now, normally, we would not discuss the foulest of magic, curses, until next year... but I have been granted special permission by the Headmaster to discuss the matter with you all today,” Gilderoy Lockhart said, strolling to the front of the classroom, flashing his usual pompous smile.

He waved his wand and _Unforgivable Curses_ appeared on the blackboard in perfectly formed cursive. 

“There are three curses that earn you a lifetime visit to Azkaban,” Lockhart said, looking pensively at the classroom. “Can anybody tell me who they are?”

“The Imperious curse,” said one student. Lockhart nodded, and drew a small jar out of his robes. Setting the jar on the table and opening it, he allowed a tarantula the size of his palm to crawl out. Setting it down onto the table, he pointed his wand at it.

“_Imperio_,” He murmured. 

The spider became rigid, and Lockhart walked them through just how powerful the Imperious curse was—able to directly influence the actions of individuals without any sort of resistive power, and that taking away someone’s free will was a _terrible_ crime. Harry remembered her experience with being under that curse well, back during her first year at Hogwarts.

It was… hard to explain. It was sublime, yet… utterly terrifying at the same time.

“The Cruciatus curse?” another person offered, and Lockhart nodded again, this time gravely.

“Oh yes,” Lockhart said. “The Cruciatus curse is a nasty one—it takes quite a bit of intent and force to do it, I can’t demonstrate it to you for that very reason, but suffice it to say it is the easiest way to commit an act of torture without requiring physical assistance... and then there is one more, anybody care to provide it?”

Harry raised her hand, her heart beating a little heavier in her chest than it had been a few minutes ago. “The Killing Curse, sir?”

“Indeed, Mister Potter,” Lockhart said, nodding. “Suppose you know all about that one, don’t you? Yes, the Killing Curse is as its name describes.”

He waved his wand and pointed it at the spider, still under the influence of his Imperious. “_Avada Kedavra._”

A sharp bolt of green… something, almost electricity, shot from Lockhart’s wand, and the spider collapsed into a dead heap, not even uttering a noise of pain as it died. Harry felt a little sick at the sight, to be completely honest.

“There’s no counter-curse, no cure, nothing like that. Only one person is known to have survived it, and he’s sitting right here,” Lockhart said, gesturing to Harry, who wanted to shrink into her seat and disappear.

But she couldn’t stop staring at the spider. She had... never given much thought to the Killing Curse. She’d known of it, and that it had been used against her parents, but... seeing something _dying_ by it was a different story. Had her parents also died so uselessly, collapsing into a heap on the ground?

It made her shiver with anguish.

...

“Do you wish to discuss what happened on Tuesday, Harry?” Professor Dumbledore asked as Harry sat down in his office. Harry blinked and recalled the events of Tuesday afternoon and tensed some.

“It wasn’t pleasant, no,” Harry said. “It made me... think about my parents—my biological parents.”

“I know it must have been very unpleasant for you,” Dumbledore said quietly. “But I asked Gilderoy to go over the topic with you because... I feel like it is something you should be aware of. Harry, you are the Master of Death, and you will one day be reunited with the Elder Wand. At such a time, it may press upon you the urgency to commit the foulest of acts, and you must learn to resist that temptation.”

“You mean I might go on a murder spree?” Harry asked, eyebrow raised.

“Not even a spree, you just may do something you’ll genuinely regret if you allow the Elder Wand to dictate to you what your feelings are. It is a wand that is soaked in the blood of too many that have come before you.”

“Right,” Harry said. “And we want to be sure that I won’t simply be another grim statistic in the long line of people who thought they were undefeatable with the Elder Wand—the strongest example being Lord Moldyshorts himself?”

“Precisely, Harry!” Dumbledore said, brightening considerably. “But even if you must resist the urge to use such spells, there will perhaps be a time you may be forced to use them for whatever reason. Death Eaters are... well, I made the mistake in the last war to preach for restraint and not using force as a resort to force, and many innocent people died, including your parents. If I had been a little more forceful, a little less forgiving...”

“It’s not _bad_ to be forgiving, Professor—but it’s awfully hard to forgive murderous lunatics, innit?” Harry said, looking a bit put-off by the idea of forgiving her parents’ murderer or Lucius Malfoy.

“I suppose you’re right. I just want you to be able to feel no regrets if you have to do something like...” Dumbledore said, trailing off.

“Fight a Death Eater head-on and kill the bastard?” Harry asked, grimacing. “Yeah, I get what you mean, sir.”

...

As September waned on, Harry found herself being pressed upon by all her professors to keep up the work she had been doing. Dumbledore had wanted her to continue her Occlumency and Legilimency lessons with a great emphasis on resisting attacks, as he felt that with the Death Eater attacks, and some members returning to the Death Eater faithful (including Lucius, whose “Imperious defence” back in 1981 had been the subject of many papers and public scorn) that the time before Voldemort’s return was growing short.

On the twenty-third of October, the school was abuzz with excitement, the foreign delegation would be arriving on October 30th. Lessons would be closed a half-hour early, and the students would return their belongings to their dorms and assemble in front of the castle to greet the delegations.

That week had been interesting in that the Entrance Hall went from its usual dingy appearance to look like Hogwarts had been opened _that very year_ with how the picture frames and stones glistened with no grime and no dust.

The teachers seemed to be very stressed out, as Harry’s mother had torn into Neville Longbottom after he’d accidentally transfigured his own ears into a cactus.

The evening of October 30th, Harry was corralled into the lines of students to greet the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang delegations. The Beauxbatons delegation had arrived on some opulent, over-sized horse-drawn carriage. She’d seen the Headmistress of Beauxbatons, a tall giantess of a woman named Madame Maxime, who radiated the stiff air of an aristocrat.

Harry already didn’t like her very much. Which was a shame.

The students themselves were predominantly girls, and wore these rather beautiful light blue uniforms. They looked less utilitarian than the rather mundane looking Hogwarts uniform (which Harry noted resembled basically any Muggle boarding school’s typical uniform), but far more... aesthetically pleasing.

Madame Maxime had gone on about her horses and single-malt whiskey, talking nonsense about Hagrid like he wasn’t able to take care of them.

Then the Durmstrang group had arrived, this time on a very large wooden ship that looked like something out of that one movie about the Taino pirate crew marauding the high seas against the Aztec and the Creek Empires. Harry spotted a certain Bulgarian seeker in the mass of students arriving, and went slack-jawed.

“Is that _Viktor Krum_?” She whispered to Draco, who blinked in surprise, before his jaw went slack as well.

...

Once everyone had been reconvened in the Great Hall, the foreign delegations had broken up among most of the tables. All the Beauxbatons students seemed to congregate around the Ravenclaw table, looking glum and miserable in what Harry assumed was a far cry from their sunny villas and arrogant, haughty Frankish castle.

And the Durmstrang students had _sat down with the Slytherins_. Harry didn’t mind it completely, but there were too many big brutes like Vincent and Greg lounging about, though Viktor Krum did squeeze his way into sitting near Draco, Hermione, Harry, and Pansy.

As Dumbledore began talking and welcoming the Beauxbatons students and the Durmstrang students, some of the Beauxbatons girls had been derisive laughs.

“What a bunch of arrogant _tarts_,” Harry said to herself, shooting daggers at one of them who had covered her laugh with her scarf.

“I know, right? Nobody asked them to stay,” Hermione said, sniffing airily.

“What’s with you lot?” Blaise asked, looking at Hermione and Harry. “You two look like you’re about to go kill some of those girls from Beauxbatons.”

“They’re stuck-up,” Harry said, folding her arms. “Oh look at us, we’re so dainty and feminine and we come from France, ooh-la-la.”

“Sounds like jealousy,” Blaise said with a grin, earning a slap around the head.

“I’m not jealous, you _knob_. They’re making fun of Hogwarts ’cause it’s in Scotland and it’s cloudy and not a French villa. They’re insulting me, my home and my people.”

“Alright, alright, jeez,” Blaise said, shrinking away from the annoyed Potter.

The food spread tonight was even more diverse than usual—including foreign fare. She loaded her plate with a spread of things and felt quite content to eat, while utterly _ignoring_ the prats from France.

Harry tuned out most of the speech that followed, something about Percival Weasley, the interim head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and Ludo Bagman, chief of Magical Games and Sports, something something. Harry didn’t particularly care about the Triwizard Tournament. She’d just as soon not have anything to do with it in the slightest.

Dumbledore explained that there’d be three tasks, and said the champions would be chosen by the Goblet of Fire, and that they’d have twenty-four hours to submit their names before the Goblet would choose, and to act quickly. And that, of course, you had to be seventeen before the end of the term to apply at all.

The next morning, Harry was down in the Great Hall early again, but only drinking apple juice and having a light breakfast. The food at Hogwarts was going to _kill her_ if she wasn’t careful.

Draco was already there, writing something. He looked up as Harry sat down, a goblet of apple juice in her hand.

“Anybody signed up yet?” Harry asked.

“Yeah, all the Durmstrangs’ve signed up, a couple Beauxbatons. I haven’t seen any Hogwarts students sign up, though.”

Harry did watch Fred and George Weasley each submit their candidacy that morning, along with Cedric Diggory and a few other students either 16 or 17 years of age. Harry shook her head.

“Are they all daft? Brain blasted?” Harry asked as she watched. “Why would they want to endanger their lives for fame and fortune? I’ll tell you, Draco, it isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, aye?”

“I know, Harry,” Draco said quietly. “It’s just that for some, it’s the thrill of the chase. They desperately want it so they can feel like they amounted to something. If Neville could apply, I’m sure his Grandmother would have forced him into it.”

“She wouldn’t... alright, maybe she would.”

“Ron would’ve applied too, if he was old enough,” Draco pointed out. “I would’ve killed him afterwards, but he would’ve tried.”

Harry looked bewildered at the concept.

Just then, she watched Madame Maxime and her students go through the process of subsequently submitting every name that hadn’t. For Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, it was a matter of institutional honour. For Hogwarts, it was the thrill of the game.

Harry really _did_ hate these people. Hated them so deeply because they trifled in things they ought not to trifle in. They were _arrogant_ and so full of self-confidence, glory-seeking and haughty in their methods.

It made her want to puke.

...

That evening, the Great Hall was packed with people once more, and everyone was holding their breath feeling quite excited for the drawing of the names. Harry was beginning to feel the onset of acid indigestion as her anxieties mounted. She was a pretty smart girl, and she’d spent most of her life being tutored in logic by Professor Snape, her mother, Lala, and most of the teaching staff at Hogwarts.

Therefore, she formed her own thoughts immediately:

Halloween was a time of great suffering for her. She had lost her parents as an infant, she had been forced (by her own moral compass, mind you) to rescue Ron Weasley from a troll at age 11. She had borne witness to the love of her life being petrified by Fatimah at age 12, and she had been forced to stand aside and wait for news after George Weasley had nearly been stabbed to death by Peter Pettigrew at age 13.

The chances of her getting through tonight without _something bad_ happening to her was unlikely. She most definitely thought she was going to puke. Ugh.

Once the food had been done away with (Harry had eaten very little. She’d had another goblet’s worth of apple juice and some dinner rolls, but had refused to eat anything else that would upset her precarious stomach.)

The Goblet of Fire had turned a rich red colour in the final moments of the meal, and now the room was rapt with attention.

“The Goblet should require just one more minute before it makes its decisions,” Dumbledore said, proudly. “When the champions’ names are called, I would ask them to please come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through to the next chamber. There, they shall receive their instructions.”

He waved his wand and all the candles except those inside of the carved pumpkins were extinguished, making the Goblet of Fire the focus of everyone’s attention, the rest of the room plunged into semi-darkness.

The Goblet grew bright before it the flames exploded outwards, ejecting a scrap of paper. Dumbledore plucked it out of the sky and read it.

“The champion for Durmstrang,” He read loudly and clearly. “Will be Viktor Krum.”

A storm of applause from Hogwarts and Durmstrang rose up, and Viktor stood up from the Slytherin table and made his way to the room in question. The Goblet began to flame again, before ejecting another piece of paper.

“The champion for Beauxbatons...” Dumbledore read out. “Is Fleur Delacour!”

Two of the girls who hadn’t been chosen were sobbing loudly as Fleur stood up and proudly strode her way to the room where the Champions would be meeting. The goblet flared once again, ejecting the final champion.

“The Hogwarts champion,” Dumbledore pronounced. “Is Cho Chang!”

Cho Chang, Harry’s friend, stood up and grinned. Harry clapped loudly for her, she was quite proud, actually. The sixth year was very hard working, and if anybody would represent Hogwarts, she was definitely the worthiest competitor.

“Excellent,” Dumbledore said as the Goblet percolated. “We now have our three champions. I am sure that I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from each of our foreign counterparts, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real—”

The room fell dead as the Goblet turned blood red again. Harry’s nausea returned in spades, and she felt like she was going to be sick.

Sparks were shooting out of it before it flared again, ejecting one final scrap of paper. Dumbledore took it into his hand, his eyes closed. Mouthing something silently, he opened it up and stared at it. His eyes widened.

He cleared his throat, and pronounced the name clear as a bell.

“Harry Potter.”


	4. The Fourth Champion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well... shit.

_Stay calm, Harry. Stay calm. Stay calm. Stay calm._

Repeating the mantra to herself, Harry managed to find her footing as she stood up from the Slytherin table. The number of eyes on her was making her break out into a profuse sweat. Glancing up towards the head table, she noticed that Dumbledore was ashen faced, looking like he’d just had the wind taken out of his sails.

Her mother was staring at the back of Dumbledore’s head, looking a most violent shade of puce. The intensity of her stare was something Harry hadn’t ever seen on her face in her whole life.

As she walked the distance, Dumbledore placed a hand on her shoulder. “Go on, we’ll be there momentarily,”

She proceeded through the room, trying her best to ignore the deafening silence. As she walked, her mortification and horror was slowly morphing into sheer anger and fury, burning within her like a raging inferno. 

Someone had _put her name into the Goblet without her permission_.

She wanted to commit murder now, even more than when she had run across Lucius Malfoy in the forest during the World Cup. Anger welling up in her as she entered the back room, her slamming the door had drawn the attention of Cho, Viktor and Fleur.

“What is it?” She asked in her thick Frankish accent, laden with contempt for the intruder. “Do they want us back out there?”

“No,” Harry said, gritting her teeth. Cho obviously noticed Harry’s strained response and quickly crossed the room.

“Harry, what’s wrong? What happened?” Cho asked, frowning.

Just as Harry was beginning to respond, the door burst open, and many people flooded in. Professor Dumbledore, Harry’s mothers, Maxime, Karkaroff, Snape, Percy Weasley and Ludo Bagman.

“What’s going on, Headmaster?” Cho asked, looking at Professor Dumbledore.

The Hogwarts Headmaster sighed deeply.

“It seems the Goblet of Fire has chosen a _fourth champion_,” Dumbledore said dryly. “Harry’s name has been drawn from the goblet.”

“You cannot be serious!” Fleur snapped, folding her arms. “This little _child_ is supposed to compete with us?”

Harry snapped just a bit, and wheeled around on her feet and glared daggers at the French girl. “Keep running your mouth, ya fuckin’ slag, I’ll come over there and show you what this little Scottish child can do with a wand,” Harry said, wand in hand.

“What is the meaning of this nonsense, Headmaster?” Maxime said with a deep frown. “Why did the boy’s name come out of the Goblet? We cannot permit _two_ Hogwarts champions! It is totally unfair!”

“I agree; I don’t remember two champions for the hosting school being specified in the rule. We were also under the impression there was an Age Line. If we had known ahead of time, I would have brought far more candidates,” Karkaroff said angrily.

“Harry,” Dumbledore said, ignoring the jibes from the foreign delegation. He fixed his gaze on the irritated Scottish girl and looked at her levelly.

“Did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?” He asked calmly, his voice and demeanour as placid as a lake.

“No,” Harry grit out, glaring at Dumbledore. “Why on Earth would I want that?”

“The boy is obviously lying,” Maxime said with a snort of contempt. “Clearly the brat paid one of the older students to submit his name for it, he’s obviously a glory-hound seeking attention.”

“I would advise you to temper your tongue, Madame,” Professor Snape said, glaring at her with a frigid expression. “Lest you not only offend Hogwarts as an institution, but Mister Potter’s own parents as well,” He glanced at Minerva McGonagall, who looked like she was going to start a full-on brawl with the Beauxbatons Headmistress.

“As well as offending _me_.” He continued haughtily. “I will not stand here and have you insult one of my Slytherins. Perhaps instead of fighting like children, we could ask our two Ministry officials what course of action shall be done here?”

“It’s quite obvious, isn’t it?” Percy Weasley said with a sniff. “Once a name has been drawn from the Goblet, the participant in question is bound to compete. It constitutes a binding magical contract. Harry will simply _have_ to participate.”

“Then we will resubmit all the names of the students who wish to compete, from all years, and redraw until each school has two candidates!” Karkaroff said tersely.

“It don’t work like that, mate,” Ludo Bagman said dismissively. “I checked, the Goblet of Fire’s gone out, and ’sides, Potter’s name ain’t even under Hogwarts,”

“Ludo Bagman is right, Harry was entered under a fourth school, specifically, ‘the school of Slytherin’,” Dumbledore said, glancing back at Karkaroff.

“In which Durmstrang will not compete! After all the meetings, negotiations, compromises, I will not be made a fool of by some brat! I have half a mind to leave now!” Karkaroff protested, face turning a most delightful shade of violet.

The adults began to scream and shout at each other, their words lost in the din of profanities and foreign languages before Harry raised her wand to her throat and silently cast a _Sonorus._

“_THAT IS ENOUGH!_” Harry screeched, her voice rattling the walls and causing some of the glass fixtures on the wall to pop loose, shattering against the floor. Everyone stopped and stared at her with wide-eyes, with the exception of Dumbledore, Snape and her mother.

Snape’s black eyes were glittering with pride, her mother had a faint look of praise tempered with a satisfied smirk settling on her lips, and Dumbledore’s eyes were sparkling with amusement.

She tapped her wand against her throat again, cancelling the spell.

“Instead of bickering and giving each other the _fucking_ run around like a bunch of sprogs,” She drew each word out, imitating her mother’s more professional methods of speaking despite her free use of profanity. “Perhaps we could try being a bit more civil for a moment while we figure this nonsense out, aye?”

She cast a glance around the room, her head raised, judging each and every person intently.

“First and foremost,” She continued. “Do any of you _genuinely_ think I care one bloody fucking iota about glory to consider participating in a foolish death match? I’ve nearly died more than _twice per year_ I’ve attended Hogwarts. I’ve got enough of an inheritance from my dead parents where I don’t need the prize money—and I’m already in the fucking history books as the sole survivor of the Killing Curse and the vanquisher of Voldemort. Why would I want fame? I don’t need it; I’ve got plenty enough to last me a lifetime, _and then some._”

She snapped her fingers when Maxime went to rebut, interrupting the Beauxbatons headmistress. “Cho is the Hogwarts champion,” She said, glaring at Maxime with full intensity. “If I am required to compete, then I will, but I will not do so under the Hogwarts banner.”

She leaned back and gave the room the best ‘Slytherin glare’ she could. Draco and Pansy had been teaching it to her for months, and Snape’s lips twitched when she turned it on. She felt a brief surge of pride from him as the temperature in the room dropped.

Percy cleared his throat, and stepped in between everyone, clearly trying to defuse the tension. 

“Now that we’ve... moved on, let us discuss the first task. It will be held on the 24th of November. You four,” He gestured at the Champions. “Will not be getting any assistance from teachers to complete the tasks. You are required to figure it out on your own, and you will only be permitted your wands when you confront the first task. Due to the consuming nature of the tournament, you shall be exempted from all end-of-year exams.”

“Does that include my DADA OWL, Professor Dumbledore?” Harry asked, glancing at her headmaster. “I am scheduled to sit it this year,”

“We will work with the Ministry on that, I hope,” Dumbledore said, glancing at Percy. 

Percy nodded and appraised Harry carefully.

“I’ll have the Department of Examinations contact you,” He said, giving Harry a ghost of a smile before closing the folder he had in his hands.

The foreign delegations left the room, leaving only the Hogwarts staff and two students behind. Harry sagged against the wall and rubbed her eyes, feeling incredibly irritated.

“I didn’t want this, Cho. I was happy when you’d been chosen. Of _everyone_ at Hogwarts, I thought you’d do a fantastic job.”

“I know you didn’t, Harry,” Cho said, coming over to the younger student. “You’ve been through more in the last three years than anybody else has. We’ll be competing against each other, but that doesn’t mean we’ve got to hate each other.”

“You’ll likely be pulled along by your classmates when they decide to excommunicate me,” Harry said glumly.

“I’ll put whoever’s got some nasty opinions in hospital, and I’m sure your friends in Slytherin will too. If we’ve got to shame and put fear into these people to make them realize you’re an innocent victim, then I will,” Cho said, giving Harry a mischievous grin.

Cho took a deep breath before grinning. “By the way, nice job calling Fleur a _slag_. She’s been such a snot the entire time we’ve been here, and it’s only been a few minutes.” She said.

“Thanks,” Harry said, smiling. “She’s been getting on my nerves all night. All of them have. They think they’re so much better _than us._”

Cho placed a comforting hand on Harry’s shoulder before sweeping off to go make her way back to Ravenclaw Tower.

Harry let out a theatrical sigh, removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes again. She glanced behind her at the two professors, holding their gaze briefly.

The last burning resolve in her chest collapsed, and the emotions burst forth like rushing water from a dam. Harry started to cry, her frame shaking with heavy, racking sobs. Minerva wrapped Harry up in her arms and pulled her close.

“Why is it _always me?_” Harry sobbed into her mother’s robe, shaking her head in disbelief.

“I wish I knew, my sweet girl,” Minerva said, trying her best to soothe Harry. She kissed the top of Harry’s head. “You’re such a brave young woman, Harry. Have I ever told you that?”

“I’m scared, Mum,” Harry said, looking terribly maudlin and frayed.

“I know you’re scared, but... I think you can do this,” Minerva said with a smile. “You’re so brave, so strong, so _cunning_. In these three short years you’ve been at Hogwarts, you’ve been so good at getting out of the toughest scrapes. You outwitted Quirinus, tamed a basilisk, and helped catch a murderer. You are more capable than you’re willing to give yourself credit for, my dear.”

Harry nodded slowly before hugging her tighter. “Thanks, Mum,” She whispered.

“It’s my pleasure, dear,” Minerva said quietly. “And should anybody decide to start trouble, please tell one of us. Now, let’s get you back to your dorm.”

The walk back to the Slytherin dorm was quiet, and Harry sighed to herself. She had _known_ something was going to go wrong. Every year had to have some catches or gotchas to put her on her toes, and make her deal with some unnecessary _shit._

She uttered the Arabic phrase to enter the common room and was greeted by a roar of people. At the front of the group were Pansy, Draco and Hermione—all of whom were giving Harry their warmest smiles. Harry noticed the room was decked out for a party, of all things.

“Wait, everyone,” Harry said, looking around. “I didn’t do this on purpose? I didn’t want to be a champion, I wanted to spend the year doing... nothing of substance. I thought this tournament would mean I got to take a break.”

“We all kind of figured that, Potter,” Daphne Greengrass said with a shrug. “You’re the least ambitious Slytherin ever. But that doesn’t mean we’re not gonna close ranks around you and support you.”

Harry’s frown split into an ear-to-ear grin, and Draco pressed a butterbeer in her hand.

“Enjoy yourself, Potter—stress and anxiety are a thing for tomorrow,” He said, with a shrug. “You’re in the snake pit, and we’re not going to turn away from you,” Draco said soothingly, hugging his friend.

“You’re the fucking best, Dray,” Harry said, punching her best friend in the arm.

The party carried on for a few hours longer, before Harry made her way back to her shared bedroom, feeling the fatigue of the day and the frustration settling in and making her bones feel _weary_. She slipped into a nice hot shower, and let her anxieties and worries about the competitions melt away, before stepping out. She tossed on her favourite nightgown, before gliding her way to bed.

Once she’d settled into bed, she felt Hermione slipping in behind her, cuddling close, and Harry smiled.

Maybe it wasn’t _all bad._

...

Things hadn’t yet escalated to the point of drawing wands, but she’d definitely been shoulder-checked in hallways, and been subjected to the scorn and mockery of “Cho Rules!” and “Support Cho!”. Zacharias Smith and Justin Finch-Fletchley had started distributing buttons that frequently derided Harry as a glory-hound and flashed supportive messages for Cho in alternation with some rather rude words about Harry.

The response to those buttons hadn’t gone over well, with professors coming down like the wrath of God on people who walked around with them. It certainly gave the impression of growing polarisation at Hogwarts, given that most of the detentions now had at least a dozen or more Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws cleaning cauldrons or chalkboards sans magic, and only seemed to intensify the growing anger.

While Harry herself hadn’t gotten into any physical scrapes, some of her friends had. Ron Weasley had defended her honour in the Gryffindor common room and had gotten into a fist fight with Seamus Finnegan, earning both of them a week’s detentions after one of the prefects had broken their fight up.

Ron had walked away with only a few bruises—Seamus’ nose had been busted right open, earning him a trip to the hospital wing.

Fred and George Weasley had stepped up their prank campaigns—they had abandoned their long-standing policy of using Slytherins as the guinea pigs for their new products and instead focused their efforts on Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs who had earned their ire, as well as “ignorant Gryffindors” in their own words.

Cedric was deeply involved in the mayhem as well, giving them pointers on which Hufflepuffs were off-limits and which ones deserved some come-uppance.

Harry’s most surprising defender, out of everyone at Hogwarts that could’ve come to her side, was Cho.

Cho had been utterly unsympathetic to her fellow Ravenclaws and their indignation and hostility towards Harry. 

She made clear from the very beginning she harboured no ill-will or blame for Harry, and that anybody who wanted to cause a problem with Harry would have to duel her first. It had caused some friction in the common rooms from what Harry understood, but Cho was much like Harry in that she was _stubborn,_ and quite clever with a wand.

Nobody ended up taking Cho up on her offer, because they weren’t _completely_ daft and touched in the head given Cho’s fierceness and her status as the top student in the Duelling Club.

Harry, though, always the one to seek a diplomatic solution first, opted to spend less and less time outside with her fellow students, and more time in the Chamber, talking to Fatimah and/or studying.

Her conversations and private lessons with Dumbledore had hit quite a skid as well—with her now being a Champion, Dumbledore had a long list of things he could not teach her or help her with now, but instead gave her advice on _where_ to start looking for solutions and allowing her to self-study to build her knowledge base.

Their conversations instead had revolved around wixen sociology and political science, such as the weakened state of the Wizengamot, fragility of the Ministry for Magic, and the conditions that allowed Voldemort and Grindelwald to rise within a generation of each other. Harry was quickly coming to the opinion that the Ministry for Magic was a house of cards, ready to be blown down by the first stiff wind that blew into it.

Harry felt glad she’d had Dobby purchase the standard textbooks for fifth, sixth- and seventh-year Defence students, and dove into those for ways she could start dealing with the potential problems she faced.

She didn’t think the Triwizard Tournament would rely too much on brute force, but instead challenge her logically.

A couple weeks before the Task, on a Friday, Harry had been summoned from her Potions class to some Triwizard Tournament related nonsense. Snape had given her a reassuring grimace and had permitted her departure gracefully.

She followed Colin Creevey up the flights of stairs to a small room where the other three champions were already waiting around.

Viktor Krum looked like he’d eaten something foul—he seemed to be doing that a lot lately, a far-cry from his debonair, almost majestic sort of look during the World Cup. 

Fleur looked snotty and haughty (as usual), and Cho looked pensive and frayed at the seams. Harry frowned. Maybe she’d talk to Cho later, see if she was alright.

“Ah, here he is,” Harry heard Ludo Bagman say, seizing her by the hand and dragging her over to the other three champions. “Come on, Harry, it’s time for the Wand Weighing ceremony, and the judges will be here in just a moment,”

“Wand weighing?” Harry asked, eyebrow raised. “Why’ve they got to do that?”

“Just to make sure they’re functional,” Bagman said in an attempt to placate her. “The expert’s upstairs now with Dumbledore, and then there’ll be a small photo shoot.”

Bagman gestured to the man sitting in a chair nearby. “This is Barty Crouch, he’s with the Daily Prophet. He’s been assigned to cover all the thrilling details.”

“Well, I’ll certainly do my best, Ludo,” Barty said, giving Ludo a toothy grin. He leaned back in his chair, and Harry did his best to ignore him, though she couldn’t shake the feeling she was being watched.

Her ruminations on why she was feeling so unnerved came to a sudden end as she felt Dumbledore’s presence approaching. The grand Headmaster stepped into the room, accompanied by the frail presence of Garrick Ollivander.

“May I introduce Mr. Ollivander to all of you,” Dumbledore said with a smile. “He will be performing the ceremony this afternoon.”

Ollivander went to Fleur first, his pale eyes staring, unmoving, into hers. “Madame Delacour, may I see your wand first, please?”

She handed him her wand and he observed it carefully.

“Mmm, yes,” He said with a nod. “Nine and one-half inches, inflexible, rosewood, containing... ah...”

“Veela hair, from my Grandmother,” Fleur finished with a sniff.

That didn’t surprise Harry one iota. Of _course,_ the soggy French tart was part-Veela. It went a long way to explain why her very presence seemed to make Harry want to start slinging curses. She’d briefly studied Veelas after the World Cup—where they were able to seduce men with their very presence, their presence fostered intense jealousy, resentment and hatred in women.

It was actually rather nice to know that veelas had that effect on her.

“I’ve never used Veela hair in my wands, I have found them far too temperamental, but if it works for you, then all the better,” He said, pale eyes flickering up to Fleur.

He cast the wand away from everyone.

“_Orchideus!_”

A bouquet of flowers sprang from the tip, and he plucked them, observing them before tossing them aside. “Your wand works as expected,”

He handed it back to her and moved down the line.

“Miss Chang,” He said to Cho. He looked at her wand as she handed it over. “Ah, yes, this is one of my mine, isn’t it? Yes, yes, I remember this one well...”

He breathed deep. “Ten inches, blackthorn with a unicorn hair core... an excellent choice for someone as wild-hearted as you,”

He whipped the wand and sent a series of smoke rings flowing through the room and nodded with satisfaction. He handed the wand back to Cho and moved down the line.

“Mister Krum, if you please,” Ollivander instructed, his pale eyes fixing on the Bulgarian seeker. As Krum handed his wand over, Ollivander brightened some.

“Gregorovitch does his craft well,” He hummed. “Hornbeam and dragon heart-string? My, my, quite a combination.”

He waved Krum’s wand and it backfired like a gun, birds flocking out of it en masse, through the window and into the sunlight.

“Good, good,” Ollivander said with a grin, before handing the wand back. Ollivander’s pale eyes then fell upon Harry. “And of course, Mister Potter,”

Harry silently handed her wand over to Ollivander, who breathed deep in reverence.

“Ah yes, I remember this wand. A very custom one... truly not the one you’re intended to wield, now is it, Mister Potter? No, there is another wand that calls your name louder than this one ever could, but it will suffice... Ten inches, rigorous... rowan, with a thestral core,”

Quite a few people seemed in disbelief at the marriage of a rowan wand with a thestral hair core, including the reporter Barty, who was scribbling, his quill making a loud scratching noise against the notepad he had in his hands.

Ollivander spent far too long observing it, seeming to almost revel in the power that hummed through it. He then opened his eyes and cast it silently, a fountain of wine coming from it before he nodded in approval.

“Your wand is still as impeccable as could be expected, Mister Potter.”

Before Dumbledore could dismiss them, they got boxed into photographs, and Barty made sure to get plenty of photos of the assembled Champions, as well as individual shots. Harry did her best to seem as utterly _unenthused_ as she could, if for no other reason than to spoil the Daily Prophet’s desperate desires to paint her as an excitable young competitor.

The article had been pretty focused, and she found she rather liked Barty’s methods of reporting—he was quite objective, even if he did sort of jazz up her part of things, given the sheer _sex appeal_ of a fourteen-year-old being forced to compete in a blood tournament. But you know, _magic!_

Harry received a letter at breakfast one morning, and opened it with a raised eyebrow. It was a request from Hagrid to meet him at midnight down at his hut. To come alone and tell nobody of it. Harry had folded it up, stuck it in her robes, before heading to class. After classes, she clued Hermione, Draco and Pansy into it while they were sitting in the Chamber of Secrets.

“Hagrid’s asked me to come down to his hut tonight at midnight, for something,” Harry said.

“Maybe he’s got information about the first task. Delacour and Krum seem like they already are aware of what they need to do—they’re walking around looking like confidence personified,” Draco said, shrugging.

“It wouldn’t surprise me they’re cheating—it would just like those bastards,” Pansy said, folding her arms.

“Yeah, doesn’t surprise me either,” Harry said with a sigh. “I’ll have to go alone, but I’ll take my invisibility cloak and the like, and my wand, and be sure to protect myself.”

And so, Harry did.

She went down to Hagrid’s hut around midnight, wearing her invisibility cloak. She had been delayed slightly, but still arrived within minutes of when she was supposed to. She knocked on the door and it popped open, revealing Hagrid.

“Harry?” He said quietly, and Harry dropped the hood of the cloak and looked at Hagrid expectantly.

“Ah, good, you’re here, come on,” He said, closing his door behind him, slinging his umbrella behind his back. “There’s something I wanna show ya,”

Hagrid lead Harry deep into the Forbidden Forest, before motioning for her to stop. Harry threw her cloak’s hood back on and peered out at the clearing. She could see Charlie Weasley waving his arms and barking orders at people. It was then that she saw it.

_Dragons._

“Oh, bloody hell,” She whispered. “They’re having us fight dragons?”

“Something like that,” Hagrid said quietly. “Madame Maxime told me what she’d found out over drinks, and then I done told Dumbledore—who told me to tell ya. You’re going to be tryin’ to take something out from under one of them beasties.”

“Does Cho know?” Harry asked, grimacing. Hagrid shook his head, and Harry nodded. It was up to her to tell Cho. She knew she’d have to find her and let her know as soon as possible.

Harry finally got a good look at the four dragons, and Hagrid quickly explained each one. The largest and most dangerous was the Chrobatian Horntail, there was also a Common Welsh Green, Khalkha Fireball, and a Geatish Short-Snout. All four looked terribly ferocious and Harry knew she didn’t want to face down _any of them_, but she knew at least one was marked for her.

It made her feel nauseous.

...

The following morning, she saw Cho seated at the Ravenclaw table, and decided to brave the glares and sneers of the assembled groups and approached her to inform her of the coming task. She couldn’t do it so _publicly_, not with Fleur sitting only a few yards down the line.

“Cho,” Harry said, looking serious. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Don’t, Cho,” one of her friends said, giving Harry a scathing look. “No help for traitors.” The girl’s voice was dripping with scorn and loathing, and Harry resisted every urge to tell her to go shove it up her arse.

“Shut up,” Cho said, irritably, beating Harry to the rebuke. “I’ve already told you I have no interest in ostracizing a fourteen-year-old. I’m not a bully, get it through your skull,” Cho finished icily, rising to her feet. She nodded to Harry and followed the Slytherin out of the Great Hall and down one of the corridors towards the dungeons.

Once they’d put some distance between themselves and any eavesdroppers, Harry pivoted around and sighed.

“So,” Harry began quietly, voice only slightly above a low whisper. “I found out what the First Task is—and apparently the other two already know.”

“What!?” Cho said in shock, her eyes widening. “What is it!?”

“Dragons, it’s going to be bleedin’ dragons.” Harry said, grimacing. “We’re going to be trying to take something away from a dragon. Hagrid didn’t know all the details, but he heard it from Madame Maxime.”

“Those... _bastards!_ They’re cheating!” She said, frustrated. “And you’re already up to your eyeballs in scorn and ridicule. This whole thing is awful. Why on _Earth_ did anybody agree to bringing back this madhouse of a contest? You know, I did some readin’, do you know how many people’ve bloody _died_ from it?”

“I know, right?” Harry said, snorting. “Right nonsense. I don’t know what we’re going to have to do exactly, but please be careful, alright? I’d hate myself if you got hurt or killed.”

“I will, Harry... but _you_ should be careful too, you’re... only fourteen, you know?” Cho said, finishing with an open-ended question, looking remorseful and quite upset at the concept of someone Harry’s age facing a dragon.

“I know,” Harry said, shaking her head to push away the negative thoughts. “I’ll survive. I’ve survived two murder attempts in three years, I think... I can do this.”

She hoped she sounded convinced, because she most certainly wasn’t.

Cho smiled and hugged Harry.

“Good luck, regardless.” She said before heading back to the Great Hall.

...

Beyond the terribly complex things, like bleeding dragons, Harry had been trying to keep up with her other classes. Charms had presented some difficulties when her wand had reared its ugly head with resisting her again. The Summoning Charm was dead-useful, but she was getting no favours from the bloody wand in her hand.

She’d barely made the mark to not get buried in homework from Flitwick, but she’d been in a right sour mood afterwards, going into the Chamber of Secrets and practicing it until she’d tired herself out. Fatimah had been whispering words of encouragement and trying to get her to calm down, but Harry had gotten frustrated and started crying against one of the marble statues. She ended up falling asleep that night in the Chamber, Fatimah coiled around her like the protective guardian she was.

She also spent quite a bit of time hanging around the library, studying as much as she could about some of her ideas for how to confront dragons. The study of dragons was well documented—they were resistant to spell-work, capable of breathing fire, capable of flight, and incredibly dangerous. Something she did find out, however, thanks to some of the deep analysis of the history of dragons, was that they shared a common ancestor with common serpents.

A seedling was planted in Harry’s head—was she able to communicate with dragons using Parseltongue? It was possible, but... at the same time, that was not the only thing she wanted to rely on. She began formulating a number of ideas that would help her deal with the dragon in case she needed to.

The Parseltongue idea aside, she’d decided that she could use the Summoning Charm on her broom and use it to lead the dragon on a wild goose chase until she could sweep down and grab the object from the nest.

Alternatively, she could try to temporarily disorient the dragon to give her enough time to grab whatever they wanted her to grab and retreat. She didn’t fancy the idea of harming an innocent animal being used for _sport_ in a tournament like this, so she decided that would be the absolute last resort.

The morning of the task, Harry was full of nerves. Hermione had been trying to get her to have a full night’s rest, but Harry had been up and down pacing their room and feeling like utter death. She was confident she’d figure it out and do a crack job with it, but the fear that she’d be killed by a dragon still lingered in her mind.

And it was a perfectly reasonable fear to have, god damnit! She was 14 and going to face down a fully-grown dragon!

_I was eleven and faced down a fully-grown mountain troll. How is this much different?_

_The troll only had a club. The dragon’s got FIRE. Am I daft?!_

_I was able to hold my own against a fully-grown man until I could retreat to safety. Just calm down and think rationally. What would Hermione do? What would Draco do?_

Huh. Harry guessed that’d work.

She had to think about this _rationally_.

It made no sense to get so worked up until the Task started, and then maybe she could figure something out that would do justice enough to keep her alive. She had initially been thinking to just do the bare minimum to get by in the Tournament, but Draco had thoroughly disabused her of such notions.

...

_“No, you’re going to blast their doors off,” Draco proclaimed, staring Harry down with firm intent after she’d made the general impression that she was going to intentionally throw the competition._

_“You’re a Slytherin, Harry. You’re going to do your best and make them regret looking down upon you,” Draco said, as certainly as he would say ‘the sun is bright’._

_“But Draco-” Harry said, grimacing. “I don’t want it. The fame, glory, whatever—it’s all meaningless to me, why not let them have it?”_

_“Those things don’t matter!” Draco had proclaimed loudly. “Make them regret the day they underestimated you, Potter! Stand up and show that you’re not a pushover, and that you won’t take it.”_

_Harry had found that even Snape and her mother had agreed with such sentiments. Snape had told her he expected her to uphold the honour of Slytherin house and perform to the best of her ability, which he knew was plentiful._

_“If you’re anything close to the sort of young woman your mother was, you will strike fear into the hearts of those who put you into this stupid competition.”_

_Minerva had said that the circumstances were unfortunate, but that she shouldn’t let them walk over her._

_She held a particular disdain for both schools after they had said such unpleasant and colourful things about her daughter, and she desperately wanted to see Harry utterly decimate Durmstrang and Beauxbatons._

_“I’m not going to intentionally compete to beat Cho, though,” Harry said, folding her arms. “She’s the real Champion.”_

_“Be that as it may, daughter—do not go for what is easy. Do or do not, there is no try.” Minerva said, folding her arms in return. “You’re more than capable of performing in this tournament. Albus has been building you up for years, you’ll smash them and show them what Scotland, and what our family stands for.”_

_Harry grinned at her mother._

...

Harry thought about the similarities between herself and the other Champions.

Harry was also a seeker. A skilled one at that.

So was Krum.

They’d both pulled off the dangerous and difficult Wronksi Feint. They were both sharp-eyed and were good at evasive manoeuvres. She could do anything he could, she thought. The only advantage he had was the fact that Durmstrang had a reputation for being a little quicker to dabble in the Dark Arts. She didn't have any experience with that, her methodologies being mostly by-the-book.

She was a talented witch with a litany of spells and things in her repository.

Like Fleur.

But unlike the French tart, she’d learned long ago that she needed to stay humble and not assume things would go her way. Down that path leads arrogance and defeat.

She just needed to _win._ Easier said than done, but she knew she could do it. She knew that if she kept alert, and didn’t let her guard down, or assume it was easy, she could do it.

She steeled herself one last time and took in a deep breath. She was ready.


	5. What Are Dragons But Merely Huge Flying Serpents?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I came into this with two goals: Dragons and Gay.

It was around mid-day when she was sitting at lunch trying to control her nausea that Professor Snape gathered her up and escorted her down to the grounds for the event.

She entered the purple tent and found the other three champions already waiting (why did they always get her _LAST_!?). It was a stark contrast from the last time they’d seen them. Fleur was looking utterly pallid, sitting on a low stool with an expression on her face that said something along the lines of ‘oh no what have I gotten myself into’.

Viktor was even _more_ surly than usual and was biting at his nails in a nervous fashion, and Cho was pacing back and forth, looking frayed and worried. Cho gave her a wry smile when she noticed the Slytherin entering the room.

“Now that we’re all here,” Bagman said excitedly, with Bartemius Crouch by his side. “We can begin. Time to fill you in on what you’ll be doing.”

He pulled a sack out of his robes. “I’ll be offering each of you this bag, and you’ll select a small model of the thing you are about to face. There are four different varieties, you see, and erm, yes. Right! Your task... is to collect a golden egg!”

Harry blinked. They were going to take an egg from a dragon. How _barbaric._

After hearing the sounds of hundreds of people passing by heading to the stands, Harry stretched her arms and didn't say anything as Bagman approached Fleur.

“Ladies first, Miss Delacour,” He said, offering the bag to her. She reached her dainty hand in and pulled out a writhing, living model of a Welsh Green. ‘2’ had been printed on a tag around its neck, glimmering slightly in the lighting. Fleur showed minimal surprise, but Harry could tell she’d been informed ahead of time.

He went to Krum next. Krum reached in and pulled out the Khalkha Fireball. It had the number ‘3’ marked on it. He didn’t even blink, he just continued to stare off at nothing, only slightly inclining his head in acknowledgement to Ludo Bagman.

Cho reached in and pulled out the blueish-grey Geatish Short-Snout, grimacing to herself. The number one was printed on the tag around its neck. Harry herself felt like she was about to scream her head off.

There was only one dragon left.

_Of course._ _Of course, she got it. The most dangerous and hostile of ALL the dragons._

_Fuckers._

She reached her hand into the bag and plucked out the writhing miniature Chrobatian Horntail, glaring at the thing which had a tag marked ‘4’ around its neck. The small creature writhed until she placed it in her palm. It stared up at her expectantly, and she gently stroked its ceramic ridges and it seemed content.

She placed it inside the pocket of her armoured outfit, and she could feel it settling down contently. It was a very strange feeling. She knew the small dragon in her pocket wasn’t alive in the classical sense, but no holds had been barred in animating it.

Harry sat in the tent and waited. Cho had taken some time to get her egg, but the deafening roar of the crowd meant she’d put on one hell of a show.

Fleur had gone next, and Harry felt a bit sorry as she watched her leave the tent nearly trembling. Maybe she’d try to be a little friendlier to Fleur next time they saw each other. There was no sense in them hating each other when they would be bonding in the fires of... whatever death trap these lunatics had set them up for.

She could hear Bagman’s commentary, and made the assumption that Fleur was making a right mess of herself out there. Her applause and response from the crowd had been much more subdued, and she figured it due to either her being very sloppy, or simply because it wasn’t the same home-field advantage that Cho had.

Krum had left the tent, leaving Harry by herself. The shriek from the Fireball hadn’t made her heart feel any better, but she knew that Krum had done well, and the crowd responded in turn.

It was finally her time.

She stood up and made her way outside the tent. Hundreds of people had stacked the stands, and as soon as she appeared, the crowd had gone from cheering to a large mixture of jeers and cheers.

She could tell that the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were leading the jeering, while the Gryffindors and Slytherins were cheering for her.

How ironic—a historical rivalry steeped in a thousand years of hostility and arguments over Might Makes Right, and wixen blood purity, put aside to support the Heir of Slytherin in this, _her darkest hour._

She gave the crowd the trademark ‘Slytherin smirk’ as she strode out into the field. The sight of the Horntail, crouched low over her nest of eggs, wings half-furled and the putrid, yellow eyes upon her. The eyes reminded her strongly of Fatimah, and that gave Harry the confidence she needed to put into act her first idea.

Harry continued her approach slowly, not breaking eye contact with the dragon. Finally, she opened her mouth.

“_I mean you no harm,_” Harry’s sibilant hiss flowed forth. The crowd, still in the midst of their jeering and cheering had stopped dead in their tracks, a silence falling over the arena as the sounds of her speaking in Parseltongue washed over them.

"_I speak to you now in peace. I am a Truthspeaker,"_ Harry said, thinking back to Fatimah—snakes could not tell lies. To speak Parseltongue, one had a duty… to speak the truth.

The dragon looked at Harry intently, before it flicked its tongue at her. It was clear that it would not respond, but looked at her intently, acknowledging that she had spoken to it, and that it understood. The intelligence behind those beautiful golden eyes made Harry shiver involuntarily. What were they _doing_ to these poor creatures?

“_I do not seek to harm your younglings,_” Harry said, hissing smoothly. She didn’t notice the few in the crowd who had once served the Dark Lord closing their eyes and shuddering—from Karkaroff, Snape, to Bartemius Crouch Jr.

The dragon bowed its head once, and Harry continued her approach, gently resting a hand on the dragon’s nose. The warmth of the scales was astonishing. Harry gently stroked the dragon, taking create care to allow the dragon time to ensure she was not a threat.

The dragon let out a snuff, a billow of smoke flowing across Harry and past her. An indication that she was listening to her proposition.

"_I want the golden egg. That is all I want from you," Harry said, gesturing to the eggs._

The dragon glanced at her, and then down at the one egg that was different than the others. It stood up and sniffed the egg briefly before pushing it away from the other eggs. It fixed Harry with another long, unyielding look before it settled down protectively over its real eggs. Harry scooped the golden egg up in her arms and bowed to the dragon deferentially.

“_Thank you._” She said finally, before turning and walking away to a safe distance.

The crowd was dead silent, and everyone looked at her like she’d grown a second head.

Suddenly, the Slytherins _roared_ with excitement, while the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws looked like they were annoyed that she’d walked away without nary a scratch. The Gryffindors were clapping amicably, all of them a little shocked at how she’d just _subdued_ a Chrobatian Horntail.

“In a surprising set of events that can very hardly be explained by anybody,” Bagman’s voice carried over the crowd. “The youngest champion was the quickest to retrieve his egg!”

Professor Snape had been the first to her, looking rather subdued.

“That was the most Gryffindor thing I’ve ever seen you do in four years here, Potter,” Snape said, resting his hand on her shoulder. “But I know for certain that will never be forgotten.”

“Thanks, Professor,” Harry said quietly, smiling at him. “That was sort of the point, I think,”

“You’re welcome,” Snape said, looking at her stoically. “Now, go see Madam Pomfrey before the judges give you your score. She’s already had to mop up Miss Chang from out here, I doubt she’d be happy if I let you walk away without seeing her first.”

Harry made her way to the medical tent, and saw his favourite healer looking beside herself at the three champions sitting on the cots, looking like death warmed over.

“Dragons!” Madam Pomfrey said, looking irritated. “I can’t believe they did dragons. Really. Last year they had dementors, this year it’s dragons. I’m about this close to retiring...” She trailed off, and Harry gave her a look.

“You’ve been saying that since I was eight,” She said matter-of-factly. “But you won’t have to do anything for me, Aunt Poppy. I’ve not got any injuries, I... didn’t really fight it,”

“What do you mean, you did not fight it?” Fleur asked, eyes wide.

Harry closed her eyes and leaned back. “I’m a Parseltongue. I can speak to serpents. The eyes of that dragon were very similar to the eyes of a snake, and I... thought perhaps I could communicate with it that way; It turns out that yes, dragons can understand Parseltongue. They just can’t speak it back to you.”

The other three champions looked at Harry incredulously, but Viktor looked the most interested. He knew what Parseltongue was and was staring at the Slytherin girl with eyes the size of dinner plates. Metaphorical dinner plates, of course.

Hermione burst into the tent, followed by Draco and Pansy.

Hermione said nothing and simply wrapped Harry up in a vice-like hug, placing her head on Harry’s shoulder. She said nothing, but the vibrating brunet next to her was practically shaking with excitement.

“You really are the _bloody heir of bloody Slytherin_, aren’t you, Potter?” Draco practically exploded. “And yet you’re still the most Gryffindor Slytherin I’ve ever met. Bloody speaking Parseltongue to a bloody dragon,” 

He looked quite confounded at the whole thing.

“It worked, didn’t it?” Harry said, grinning.

“You did amazing, you were so brilliant,” Hermione said, looking into Harry’s green eyes. “I’m proud of you, love.”

They walked back to the arena to get Harry’s score, with Draco explaining in great detail each of the competitor’s runs. 

Cho had tried using duelling magic against the dragon to at least distract it long enough to steal the egg but had gotten roughed up in the process when the dragon had noticed her encroaching on the eggs-- dragon scale was resistant to spellfire, and Cho hadn’t quite given that proper thought.

Fleur had tried charming it into a trance but had gotten her skirt set on fire by the dragon accidentally shooting fire while snoring; Krum had gone straight for the eye, managing to grab the egg but destroying half the real ones in the process.

Harry stared at the judges’ panel intently, her jaw tight. She was trying her hardest to channel a mixture of her mother and the ‘Slytherin look’.

“They’ll grade you out of ten points,” Draco whispered in her ear.

Madame Maxime had fixed her with a very long and awkward stare in return, before she nodded minutely. Raising her wand, a fine mist emerged from it, forming into a silvery figure eight.

Percy Weasley was next, he gave her a solid 9. His face betrayed nothing other than he seemed markedly impressed, if not a little nauseous after witnessing Harry speak Parseltongue.

Dumbledore was next, giving her a ten. His eyes were glittering with pride, and Harry felt a small knock on her Occlumency shields—Dumbledore’s way of saying ‘good job’.

Bagman also gave her a ten, giving her a strong grin, like she was putting on fairly good dinner theatre.

Karkaroff... he was looking at very strangely, intently, like he wasn’t sure what he was looking at. When he finally got around to granting her score, he _gave her a five?_

Harry shot him a dark look, and he flinched some. Harry smirked at that—she was finally getting around to developing an imposing presence around people she didn’t particularly like.

Sighing internally, she started tabulating her score. With all five judges scores’ combined, that came out to forty-two points. She glanced at Hermione who was doing the math in her head as well. Hermione’s eyes widened, and she turned to Harry.

“You’re in first place, Harry!” She said suddenly. “You’re leading by two points over Krum!”

“Bloody hell,” Harry murmured, rubbing her head. She hadn’t quite expected taking the lead like this. Now, the question she had for herself was—can you keep it?

Draco and Pansy returned to the stands while Hermione followed her back to the medical tent. 

She saw Cho, Fleur and Krum looking all a bit melancholic and felt a little... pang of sympathy. This was what they’d wanted, and she’d... come in and taken the thunder away. She hadn’t wanted to, but she was not the sort of girl to leave things in half-measures.

“Well done, all of you,” Bagman said, pushing past Hermione and grinning. “You’ve got a nice long break ahead of you—the second task will be taking place at half-past nine AM on the twenty-fourth of February. But in the meantime, you know all those golden eggs you’re carrying? You’ll need to solve the clue that’s inside the egg. Have fun!”

Before Harry could turn to leave, she felt someone tug on his arm. Turning, he found Fleur standing in front of him.

“I... am sorry for misjudging you, Harry Potter. You are... quite talented,” She said quietly. “I look forward to meeting you in the Second Task.”

Harry looked the girl straight in the eye and bowed her head in respect. “Thank you. I look forward to seeing you in the next task as well, Fleur. Don’t be a stranger,”

Harry and Hermione adjourned to the castle—Harry felt like she could use a bath and maybe some alone time with her girlfriend. She most certainly was not in the mood for anything else. She’d worry about the egg _tomorrow_.

When she got to her quarters, she placed the egg inside her trunk, locked it, and immediately adjourned to the bathroom to soak. She’d had quite enough nonsense for one bloody day.

...

Not long after the First Task had been finished and done away with—at the end of one of their Thursday morning Transfiguration classes, Harry had been boredly doodling in the margins of one of her parchments when her mother cleared her throat.

“If I may have your attention, there is something I wish to say to you all,” She said crisply. “As you know, the Yule Ball is approaching—it is a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament, and an opportunity for us to socialise with our foreign guests. Now, the ball itself will only be open to fourth years and above; though, you may invite a younger student if you should so wish.”

She quirked her mouth. “Dress robes _will_ be worn, and the ball will start at eight o’clock on Christmas Day, finishing at midnight in the Great Hall. Now then,” Professor McGonagall continued, looking around the room. “The Yule Ball is a great chance for us to let our hair down, so to speak,”

Harry found that amusing—her mother would never be caught dead in public with her hair down. Sure, she sometimes had it down at home when she wasn’t doing anything in particular, but she had it up in the trademark bun in her hair when she was doing anything else other than spending time around the house.

“But that does not mean,” She said firmly, “that will be relaxing the standards of behaviour we expect from Hogwarts students. I will be most displeased if a student from their respective house embarrasses the school in any way, shape or form; and I can only imagine Professor Snape will feel just as I do,”

When Minerva had finished explaining and the students had begun to file out of the room in a hurry, now laden with concern over who they were going to take to the Yule Ball, Harry pivoted in her chair and flashed her most charming smile at Hermione.

“My dearest Hermione, the love of my life, the light of my universe, the sun and the moon and the stars—would you do me the _kindest_ honour and be my date to the Yule Ball?” Harry asked, batting her eyelashes at Hermione, who started giggling loudly.

“It certainly took you long enough to ask me! A whole two seconds! I’m starting to think you don’t love me anymore,” Hermione said haughtily, leaning on her posh upbringing to sound much like the upper-class English girl she was. “I would be most happy to accept your proposition, Master Potter.”

Harry grinned at her knowingly.

Minerva rolled her eyes at her daughter. “That was the corniest thing I’ve ever heard in my life,” She said, shaking her head. “The two of you, out. Before you give me a cavity.”

Harry and Hermione both laughed as they left the room. Minerva cracked a small smile at their antics.

“I’m so glad I took her away from those blasted Muggles...” Minerva said, her smile changing into a grin as she shook her head and filed away her lesson plan.

...

Harry was surprised at how many people were going to stay over the holiday. Nearly every fourth-year and higher was—and it seemed that ‘Yule Ball’ fever had hit a fever pitch, with everybody swept up in it. Harry and Hermione had been taken rather quickly—not that anybody was going to proposition them.

Harry was still very much a pariah, and Hermione was already well-known to be very loyal and loving towards Harry.

Instead of worrying about the Yule Ball (she had a date, she had really high-quality boutique-made dress robes from Toletania, and she was quite well-versed in dancing, thanks to her upbringing around two music-loving witches), Harry decided to focus more on the golden egg. The odd little object with hinges had sat dormant in her hands as she focused on it.

She had to think about it—the egg didn’t react to anything, not even _Alohomora._ So it clearly wasn’t locked or charmed to remain shut. She then decided to pick Hermione’s brain over it.

Her girlfriend had observed the egg closely, and then piped up with an idea. “Have you tried exposing it to elements? Like, it’s a dragon’s egg, so maybe you have to place it in a fire?” She had suggested.

And so Harry tried that. She took her egg into the Chamber of Secrets and had fashioned for herself a small elevated fire pit. After lighting the transfigured kindling and logs (thanks, Mum) with a simple fire spell, she then placed the egg into it and waited.

After about twenty minutes, she levitated the egg out of the fire and frowned. It was glowing red hot, but remained utterly inert. She then quickly submerged it in a cauldron of water to quickly cool it down. As she did, she noticed the egg beginning to crack open. She raised her eyebrow.

That was an interesting development—the egg subverted expectations. It was a facsimile of a dragon’s egg, but it reacted to being submerged in water, rather than fire. Reaching into the cauldron, Harry pulled the egg out, but the sound of ear-splitting shrieking caused her to drop it back into the water.

Rubbing her ears and hissing an apology to Fatimah (who glared at Harry from across the room for waking her up with such a racket), Harry gingerly closed the egg back up and hefted it up into her right hand. With her left, she banished the small fire pit and cauldron back to whence they’d come, and cleaning the area up.

Heading back to her bedroom, she shook her head in annoyance and resolved to figure it out as quickly as she could. She decided her first avenue would be to research underwater things. Clearly it had to be connected to that, right?

As the term rapidly drew towards a close, and the Yule Ball approached, the school’s fervour became even more crazed. Rumours that Dumbledore was importing alcohol into the school by the hundreds-of-barrels, and that he’d booked the _Weird Sisters_. Harry had heard them on the wireless enough times, but she was far from impressed. She vastly preferred the musical stylings of groups like _Pink Floyd Sound, The Byrne Experience,_ and _Smile_. Sure, they’d all gotten _their_ fame in the Muggle half of the world, but she knew at least some of them had to be wix.

Some of the teachers had long since given up trying to teach them anything—Professor Flitwick had gone off and let them play games in class, deciding there was nothing worth their distraction. The other professors hadn’t been nearly as generous. Lockhart had continued his self-fulfilling nonsense, further confirming to Harry that he was an utter pillock and a waste of a year of Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Professor Snape and Harry’s mother had been very ‘nose to the grindstone’, with Professor Snape slapping down a test on them on the last day of the term, telling them they would be testing poison antidotes.

Harry had buckled down for it with her usual studiousness, all the while thinking about the egg in the back of her mind. She’d done some limited research on aquatic creatures, but hadn’t really hit on anything that she clearly recognized. It was possible she just wasn’t looking in the right place. If she couldn’t figure anything out before the Yule Ball, she’d rope Hermione into helping.

Relations between Beauxbatons and Hogwarts had warmed considerably after Fleur and Harry had made nice with one another. Harry’s meal times had seen Beauxbatons students evenly dividing their attention between the Ravenclaw and Slytherin tables—whereas the Durmstrang students, whose relations with Hogwarts had continued to sour, had opted to either sit with the Hufflepuff table (most of whom were still overtly hostile to Harry, for reasons she didn’t understand, but didn’t care about), or not eat in the Great Hall at all, preferring to use their ship’s galley.

The decorations Hogwarts was putting up for the Yule holiday were quite beautiful, really. Icicles had been added to all the banisters of the grand staircase in the Entrance Hall, the usual set of trees in the Hall were bedecked with everything from holly berries to animated golden owls (Harry’s new little Horntail golem was a lot like that, she wondered if there was a similar transfiguration spell that had something to do with it), and the suits of armour were all bewitched to sing ditties of multiple origins. From things ranging from _Silent Night_ all the way to _The Allfather Comes_.

Harry had pretty much nailed the antidote test, in her opinion—it had been downright easy. The antidote to _most_ potions was just a simple bezoar. Snape had seemed quite pleased at her when he gave her full marks for her potion, and had shooed her out of his classroom while trying to not have a pleased smirk on his face.

…

Harry and Hermione had pretty much tuned out the romantic rumblings of the rest of their year as they spent much of the downtime staring at each other doe-eyed, or snogging in the privacy of their quarters, away from everyone and their drama as people tried to find last-minute dates to the Yule Ball.

One evening before they’d gone to bed, Harry had tried to get a sneak peek at Hermione’s dress robes, curious as to how they would look in comparison to her own. As she approached the fabric bag in their closet, she felt a sharp stinging on her bum and jumped.

“Ow!” She said, rubbing her arse before turning to see Hermione, wand pointed at her, a slight smirk on her face.

“No peeking, Miss Potter! You’ll have to wait and see what I’m wearing like everyone else, you naughty girl.” Hermione said, smirking.

“No fair, Hermione! You’ve seen my robes!” Harry protested.

“Yes, because _your cousin_ insisted that if we were going to appear at a function, we should at least have a pair of dress robes that matched, and so I want you to wait before you see it. I promise, you’ll adore it,” Hermione said.

Harry folded her arms petulantly. “Meanie,” she said.

Hermione kissed Harry soundly on the lips, and placed her fingers underneath her chin. “You’re not mad at me, are you, darling?”

“Maybe a bit,” Harry said, pouting.

“Would some kissing make it better?” Hermione asked, and Harry blushed.

“Maybe,” Harry replied, putting her hands on her hips.

...

The start of the holidays would have been a much needed reprieve for everyone, except for the fact the Hogwarts professors had been relentless in dumping a bunch of homework on them. Harry had somehow become the headmistress of a large study group. Nearly everyone she knew to any extent in Gryffindor and Slytherin had come together to get their homework done so they could fully commit their attentions to the holiday at hand.

It was odd at first, seeing Ron Weasley being forced to study by his elder twin brothers, or to see Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle actually managing to get their Charms homework done with the help of Hermione and Draco. But to Harry it was immensely pleasant to watch. The Sorting Hat had told her that she could be the key to restoring the reputation of Slytherin in the eyes of many—and what better way than by mending the thousand-year rivalry between Godric and Salazar?

She passed Fred’s Herbology homework over to Neville and shook her head. It wouldn’t change overnight, a lot of Gryffindors still didn’t like Slytherin House much, but the Triwizard Tournament and the whole “Harry Potter is the Fourth Champion” stuff had really helped supercharge the détente between the two houses.

In the days which followed, her mind wandered away from the abstract and metaphysical to that which was physical. She had spent time in the Chamber speaking and listening to Fatimah and the stories she told of Salazar and what the old man had believed in. Not everything that Slytherin had stood for was on her agenda, but she could certainly see the man believed in _justice_, if not equality.

When Christmas Day had arrived proper, Harry had awoken to an assortment of Christmas gifts from her family and friends. Hermione had gotten Harry a small Muggle charm bracelet, decorated with a few trinkets she’d fashioned herself. A jewel, a snake, a dog, and lastly, a dragon—it took Harry a brief moment to realize that it was a catalogue of her first four years as a Hogwarts student.

She smiled to herself at how touching and sweet it had been.

She’d given Hermione a necklace with a golden snitch on it, to be a sort of… long-term reminder of her, given how much Harry liked snitches.

She’d gotten other things as well—candies of all sorts, some prank items from Fred and George Weasley, among other things. Her mother had gotten her an incredibly soft jumper. It was very much not unisex or masculine at all, Harry could tell it was solely intended for a young woman to wear, and she grinned to herself at how amazing her Mum was about her being her.

After a nice warm breakfast of soup, Harry and Hermione spent the day together in the Slytherin Common Room, enjoying the warmth and each other’s company. They had briefly sojourned outside in the mid-afternoon to watch the Weasleys have a snowball fight with each other, earning the laughter and mirth of a bunch of people.

At five o’clock, Hermione snatched her dress out of their closet and had disappeared upstairs with Pansy and Daphne. Harry smiled knowingly at her, before sighing to herself.

She wasn’t entirely enthused at the idea that she wouldn’t be able to attend the Ball in a dress. The idea was practically _salivating-worthy_, but she had to be in her stupid boy form to be presented as a Champion. No hiding in anonymity and skirts for her.

About an hour before the actual Ball was set to start, Harry had gone back to her quarters to change into her dress robes. Cousin Narcissa had been quite adamant in Harry wearing the finest of wixen robes, given her stature as a member of the House Black, and Heir of Slytherin. While it may not mean much to _her personally_, those two things could command quite a high respect from those wixen who still seemed to be possessed with obsessions about blood purity and nobility.

Looking at herself in the mirror, she grinned. Even for a masculine outfit, it was certainly very fine attire for her. The robes were a shimmering black, and the suit underneath was green, with soft pinstripes and a dark grey tie to give it that _Slytherin_ flare. Even her cuff-links were snakes.

At this point, she should just change her surname to Slytherin, then. Christ on a bicycle.

“You look quite good, Madame,” the mirror said, and Harry rolled her eyes.

“Flattery gets you nowhere, but thank you,” Harry said.

Harry stepped out into the Common Room and waited quietly. Draco returned from _his dorm_, this time wearing the familiar pair of dress robes Narcissa had bought him in Toletania. He looked like a very fine vicar, but with a certain aristocratic air that accentuated his chocolate brown hair and sharp blue eyes.

“You look nice, Draco,” Harry said, grinning. “Your mother made the right choice,”

“I could say the same,” Draco said, observing Harry’s own dress robes. “Mother really wanted you to embody that Slytherin aesthetic, didn’t she?”

“Of course,” Harry said, rolling her eyes.

“Ahem,” A voice cleared her throat, and Harry turned and nearly fell over.

Hermione, on a normal day where she didn’t even try, was astoundingly beautiful. From her very small overbite that made her look _adorable_, to her freckles, to her wild and unyielding hair, Hermione was every part Harry’s favourite human being.

But now, with three hours of effort in taming herself, Hermione was heart-stopping. The robes she wore were floaty and matched Harry’s own black and green combinations, creating her own elegant, Slytherin-pride gorgeousness.

And she wasn’t slouching. Harry _wasn’t daft_, she’d known her girlfriend was quite blessed in the… development department, but the dress she’d gotten accentuated that particular feature well.

Draco’s elbow dug into hers. “Don’t be jealous, but I think Hermione’s got a bigger set than you do when you’re on the Tonic,”

Harry gave Draco a scathing look. She wasn’t jealous, not at all. Hermione deserved a nice pair of… God, she needed to stop being such a _boy._

Though, Hermione did have nice breasts. Even though Harry felt a pang of wishing she had a pair nearly as nice.

Whatever. She was still a fourteen-year-old with a libido, and gender identity and dissociative problems. She could feel however she felt.

But the _smile_, was as radiant as the summer sun. Her overbite was still there just a bit, and she glided down the steps, interlocking her arm with Harry’s.

“You’re quite astounding, Miss Potter,” Hermione said in a low murmur. “Butch but in a good way.”

“And you’re as beautiful as even the finest force of nature, my sweet,” Harry said. “Shall we head up to the Great Hall?”

Harry, Hermione, Draco and Pansy (both of whom were lacking their dates at the moment) moved towards the Great Hall. Both stepped off to one side expectantly, while Harry and Hermione looked confused.

Just then, Harry caught sight of who was coming down the Grand Staircase, and rubbed her eyes in astonishment.

Descending the stairs were _three redheaded girls._ She knew for a fact the Weasley family only had one girl, Ginny—and she was clearly the youngest of the three girls.

So then who were the other two?!

The tallest of the three was wearing a set of pink dress robes, looking as confident and as smug as could be. Upon seeing Harry, she winked and flashed her a dazzling grin.

The average height girl had short hair in a pixie cut, and was very waifish. She was blushing heavily, and was wearing a black dress. She was wearing a small white jacket with it, and a pair of black gloves that covered up to her elbows. She looked a bit put off and nervous.

That girl, upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, glided over and gently looped her arm into Draco’s, blushing all the while. _Ron._

The smug one wrapped her arms around Cedric, and kissed Cedric firmly on the lips. _George._

“How on Earth did you lot get the Tiresian Tonic?” Harry asked, astonished at the two sex-flipped wix.

Ron gestured her dainty, glove-clad thumb at Fred, who was still a bloke, and was grinning like a maniac, his hand looped around Danielle’s waste. The Slytherin prefect looked amused, yet resigned to the Weasley family’s excess.

“This git knows how to brew it,” Ron said, eyes flickering over to her elder brother in annoyance. “Somehow, George and I got convinced to be members of the fairer sex for a night. Draco promised me a reward if I did it.”

“I rather like it,” Ginny said, looking quite pleased. “It’s nice to have sisters for once.”

Ron blushed again, and Draco wrapped his arms around her waist. “Come now—it can’t be that awful? I’ve done it before; it can be quite an experience if you just enjoy it for what it is. And you _will_ have your reward, if you’re patient,”

“Sod off,” Ron said, closing her eyes and shivering. “I- I’m a bloke,”

“Mmm, if you say so, dear,” Draco said, gently nibbling at Ron’s neck.

“Maybe don’t molest your boyfriend here, Draco,” Harry said, raising her eyebrow. “Not that I’m sure he’d mind, given the fact he looks like he’s about to melt into a puddle in his dress, but Mum might rip your head off.”

Draco withdrew from feeling up Ron and looked a bit abashed, before patting Ron’s hand and guiding her through the doors into the Great Hall.

As Professor McGonagall summoned the Champions and their dates to line up in preparation to enter the room, Harry fell in line behind Fleur (who was escorting a seventh-year Ravenclaw), Krum (who was with Hannah Abbott) and Cho (who was with Cormac McLaggen).

Once everyone was in the Great Hall and seated, Harry could hear voices from within.

“_Introducing the Four Champions!_” Dumbledore’s voice rumbled out.

As they walked through the door, the Great Hall broke out into applause. Harry was happy that Hermione was with her as they walked up to the grand table at the top of the hall where the judges were sitting. She admired the decorations on the wall, which reminded her much of an ice palace like in some of the stories she’d read as a little kid.

She noticed Neville and Pansy sitting together, as well as Ginny sitting with the Ravenclaw Anthony Goldstein.

Harry noticed that Karkaroff seemed put off by something, Bagman was enthusiastically clapping and looking like he’d just rolled around in stardust—Maxime was wearing a gown of lavender silk, looking the epitome of poshness. 

Percy was wearing dress robes, but was looking intently at someone in the crowd, Harry realized he was staring down his brothers-currently-sisters. Either out of envy, or out of anger. She wasn’t sure which.

She and Hermione sat next to Percy, and Fleur took her place across from them, with Krum sitting in between the two groups. Dumbledore picked up his menu and quickly ordered himself some rather large pork chops.

Harry raised her eyebrow and glanced at her menu. For once, the elves were doing things ‘made to order’ out of a select group of things. Harry cleared her throat and ordered herself something hearty but not too heavy. If she was going to be forced to dance, she didn’t want to get _violently sick_.

She largely tuned out the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang people boasting about their school’s amenities. Harry rather liked Hogwarts’ much ‘less grand’ sort of stature. They didn’t have custom ice sculptures year round, they didn’t have grand designs on things, but it was home, and it was warm like a hearth in the bleak midwinter.

Once all the meals had been finished, they disappeared before their very eyes, and the tables quickly cleared away as well. Harry had reflexively stood up and took Hermione’s hand. As the Weird Sisters took their place to begin playing, Harry reflexively strode out onto the floor with her girlfriend, joined by the other champions.

Harry wasn’t exactly bad at dancing. She wasn’t a professional, but she certainly knew the movements that would be expected of her in a formal dance. Her mother had been quite insistent to teach her at an early age how to lead. She didn’t think, after she transitioned, that would change much.

Hermione as well, seemed quite well-versed in traditional, stiff, unyielding dance they were performing, stepping through the motions almost automatically, acclimating quickly to slight mis-steps or errors in Harry’s leading.

Harry didn’t often forget that her girlfriend was upper-class in the other world. Her accent was perhaps the biggest give away, and, in fact, perhaps that was one of the largest differences between the two.

Harry had grown up away from big cities like Cadzow and Aberdeen, she’d grown up in the rural Highlands of Scotland, particularly close the thunderous winds of the North Sea, so she had a much more nasal, throaty Gaelic accent, much like her mother’s Caithness accent. In the moments she was allowing her mind to wander, speaking on topics in a very general sort of way, Harry sounded very much like a star-struck country girl—and in the times she was full of passion and anger, her accent would be impossible to decipher to most.

Hermione, on the other hand, sounded closer to what _Harry_ may have sounded like had she grown up with her biological parents. She had very proper _Englander_ English, particularly the sort of English used among the upper-class peoples in their capital, London.

Harry knew the dialect quite well, in fact—she’d spent the first six years of her life after her parents’ death living in London, surrounded by people she barely remembered. But she did remember how much her aunt and uncle tried to speak in that stiff accent, to give themselves the illusion of perceived class and status.

She’d even had the accent herself once she’d moved to Scotland, but it hadn’t lasted, due to her illiteracy. Her mother had taken so much time and effort to teach her to read and write properly that she’d simply taken to mimicking Minerva’s speech patterns to the point where it was nothing but natural to speak in the brogue she had.

It wasn’t that Harry _didn’t like_ the way Hermione spoke, not at all—that dialect, despite Harry’s difficulties with it, was the dialect of royalty—and Hermione was most certainly a Queen, full of grace and love and so much that Harry couldn’t describe using mere words.

But the differences between them did taper off from there. Both girls highly valued knowledge, ambition and love—and loved each other. Harry wanted to compare it to binary stars, always in orbit about one another while being unique in their own special way.

Once their private song, accompanied by the loud tune of bagpipes had come to a close, the floor had opened to other dancers, and Harry allowed herself to be swept up in the music. She noticed many of her friends enjoying themselves as well, and grinned ear to ear. She’d avoided hob-knobbing with anybody from the Ministry or anybody in echelons of power. Draco would probably tell her she was being a right prat by avoiding it completely, but Harry’s first and only concern this evening was Hermione and her happiness. Everything else could take a long walk off a short pier and fuck right off.

Eventually they tired of dancing, and adjourned to the courtyard to enjoy each other’s company on the cool Christmas night. The court yard was full of young people being quite lovey-dovey with each other. As they walked down the path, Harry swore she saw Draco and Ron sequestered, being quite intimate with one another. She was more than certain that Ron was repaying Draco in spades for the World Cup experience.

Didn’t hurt that this was much higher risk of getting nicked by someone. She knew her cousin well, he lived for exhilarating things like that, provided it didn’t put him into danger.

Harry and Hermione had found themselves their own private corner and had snogged each other profusely. They would most certainly have marks on their necks and chests the following day, but Harry could not think of a single reason to give an idle shit about much of anything.

When they’d broken for air, Harry had felt such a strong stir of raw magnetism in her stomach. She’d looked at Hermione carefully, the other witch looking glassy-eyed and half-lidded. She came back to herself after a moment and took a deep breath.

“_Wow,_ uh,” Hermione said, looking frazzled. “That... _wow._ Erm.”

Harry gently grasped Hermione’s hand and kissed it gently. “I think I’m ready if you are, Miss Granger.”

Hermione looked at Harry carefully and smiled. “Then shall we adjourn to our quarters, my lady?”

“Lead the way, dear,” Harry said, before the two rose to their feet and made their way back into the Entrance Hall. As they headed towards the Slytherin dungeons, Fred Weasley and Danielle were emerging from the dance floor, looking mirthful. Fred caught Harry’s eyes and grinned, before reaching into his pocket.

He approached Harry and pulled a small vial of a familiar potion out of his pocket, before handing it to Harry.

“I was told that you might find this useful,” He said quietly. “Happy Christmas, Harry.”

He and Danielle then adjourned up towards Gryffindor Tower. Harry glanced at Hermione and drew her lips into a cool smile.

“Come on, Hermione!” Harry exclaimed, grabbing her girlfriend’s hand and rushing down the corridor. After getting through the common room and into their shared bedroom, Harry smiled ear to ear and pulled the Tiresian Tonic out of her pocket.

It was a single dose—enough for one twenty-four-hour period.

She looked at Hermione, and Hermione gave her a beautiful smile and nodded her head affirmatively. Harry uncorked the bottle and downed it. The taste would never be that great, but what lay on the other side of this potion was well worth the small funk in her mouth after the fact.

She felt the change slowly spread across her body, and a blossoming feeling of happiness, wholeness and completeness surged across her. The form she _should_ have had all along sliding into place like a glove.

All the discomfort in her chest evaporated, and once the change had completed, she grinned ear to ear at Hermione, her eyes tearing up slightly.

“What do you think, Hermione?” Harry asked carefully, loosening her tie and undoing some of the buttons of her outer shirt, having long discarded her robes.

Hermione looked at her with hungry eyes, and then reached and gently stroked Harry’s cheek with her thumb.

“I think you look fantastic,” She said, flashing a smile.

She then leaned in and kissed her girlfriend soundly on the lips. The kiss deepened almost immediately, as the two began to let their hands roam freely.


	6. My Wand is Fucking Terrible and I Hate It: A Three Hour Opera by Harry Potter

The following morning, Harry had awoken and stretched, realizing that she still had plenty of time before the Tiresian Tonic would wear off—in fact, it amounted to nearly a full day of use left in it.

Deciding that the matter of the golden egg was firmly a “December 27” problem, Harry had decided to simply lay off for a day.

After lying in bed for a while, Hermione finally woke up, stretching happily and running her hands down Harry’s stomach.

“Good morning, love,” Hermione said in a low voice, holding Harry tighter. “Did you have as much fun as I did last night?”

“Of course,” Harry said, smiling at her girlfriend. “I was with you; how could it have been a bad night?”

Hermione kissed Harry on the lips and rolled out of bed and headed to the bathroom to freshen up, while Harry pulled herself out of bed, and decided to forego a bath this early in the morning. She really wanted something to eat.

She put on some of her more unisex-leaning clothing, taking some efforts to hide her currently-female form, but she wasn’t particularly worried about it.

She knew that using the tonic would be harder and harder to hide as time went on, but with her voice only barely starting to crack and her being one of the shortest in fourth year, she figured she could get away with it today.

Besides, even if someone noticed—well, whatever. No skin off her nose.

After Hermione had gotten out of the shower and dressed to her satisfaction, they’d set off to the Great Hall.

“Your hair’s back to normal,” Harry observed as they walked together, and Hermione smiled some.

“I used too much of that Sleekeazy stuff,” Hermione said truthfully, shrugging. “It’s too much of a hassle to do on a daily basis.”

“I understand, I like your hair this way anyway,” Harry said, kissing her girlfriend on the cheek. For Harry, it was a bit of a pleasure to know that she and her girlfriend were nearly the exact same size and build. Harry might’ve had a bit more muscle given her active lifestyle, but it would make their lives so much easier later on when they could just... share clothing and the like.

_Slow down there, Potter,_ her brain reprimanded her. _Putting the cart before the bleedin’ horse, are we?_

Harry dismissed the intrusive thoughts and went to enjoy breakfast regardless.

She noticed that the rigorous “House system” had been broken down for at least the holiday. The Weasleys left at Hogwarts were seated together, and Harry noticed that Draco, Pansy and Neville were seated there as well. Harry plopped down next to George Weasley, with Hermione seated to her left.

“Good morning,” Harry chirped.

“Hey, Harry,” George said. “How’re you doing this morning?”

“I had an amazing night last night,” She said, grinning ear to ear. “I imagine most of you did, am I right?”

Ron ducked as she blushed profusely, and George gave her a knowing look. Draco, on the other hand, was grinning.

“Did you and Granger finally... you know?” Draco asked.

“Yeah,” Harry said, grasping Hermione’s hand and looking into her eyes lovingly. “We were ready finally,”

“Well, congratulations, you two,” Draco said with a nod, smirking. “About time, really.”

“Hermione and I were perfectly content to wait as long as it took for us to be comfortable with it,” Harry said, shrugging. “I mean, we’re only fourteen, you know? Or well, I’m only fourteen. Hermione’s fifteen, but you know, semantics.”

Hermione giggled, and nudged Harry, who stuck out her tongue.

After a nice breakfast, their large party walked down to the Black Lake to enjoy the brief sunshine and the warmer air than the previous night. Ginny had accompanied them, wanting to spend as much time as possible with her two semi-sisters until the Tiresian Tonic wore off.

“Have you been working on that golden egg, Harry?” Hermione asked as they sat underneath one of the large trees by the shoreline. “You’ve only got until the end of February to solve it.”

“I’ve been working on it, actually. I just set it aside for a few days,” Harry said, running a hand through her hair. “It opens when submerged under a body of water, and shrieks when you take it back out while its open. I was doing research into aquatic species to maybe see if there’s some correlation there, but I was thinking about it—maybe the shrieking has more to do with the open air, rather than anything else?”

“It’s possible,” Hermione said, nodding. “And worth a look. I could do some searching in the library if you’d like?”

“Only if you want to, Hermione. I’m a Champion and have to figure this out. You’re not under an obligation if you’d rather do something for yourself,” Harry said fondly, hugging her.

“I insist,” Hermione said, smiling and kissing Harry’s cheek. “Two heads are better than one, you know.”

“I know,” Harry said, shaking her head. “I just can’t wait until all this nonsense is over and I can go back to living normally.”

“I totally understand,” Hermione said, scrunching her nose in annoyance as she thought about the Triwizard Tournament again.

...

Sinking into the tub as the hours before her body would inevitably turn back to its original form, she sighed theatrically and picked up the large egg and dropped it into the tub. Once it had opened, she stared at it briefly before holding her breath and submerging herself in the water. Suddenly, she could hear voices.

An angelic choir softly sang to her.

_Come seek us where our voices sound,_

_We cannot sing above the ground-_

Harry had to surface for air, taking large gasps as she got the hair out of her eyes. Okay—so that was useless. She now knew the only way to hear the hint was to be submerged in the water.

Harry reached for her wand sitting on the table next to the bathtub and transfigured the bar of soap on the tray in front of her into a snorkel and placed it over her mouth. Plunging her head underneath once again, she found she could still breathe, and still hear the choir.

_-and while you’re searching ponder this:_

_We’ve taken what you’ll sorely miss_

_An hour long you’ll have to look,_

_An hour to recover what we took,_

_But past an hour; the prospect’s black,_

_Too late, it’s gone, it won’t come back._

The egg then went dormant, but didn’t close. Harry ruminated on what it had said, before surfacing and turning the snorkel back to soap. She continued to think. The second task was clearly going to be some kind of scavenger hunt. Given the trouble she had to go through to get much of anything, she guessed it was... _probably_ aquatic based, more or less.

An hour long you’ll have to look, an hour to recover what we took—so she would have one hour to search and recover _something_ that was important to her? What was the most important to her? Would they be limiting the search to simple inanimate objects or would the objects of affections be an important concept?

Harry felt the welling of a panic attack at the idea of someone _kidnapping Hermione_, but controlled herself before it could roll out of control. Perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps it was just... who knows.

Harry grimaced and climbed out of the tub, wrapping a towel around her chest and reaching into the tub to close the egg back up. She carried back with her into the bedroom and she placed it on top of the dresser after wiping the water off of it.

Hermione looked at her expectantly. “Well?”

“The task... I’ll have to search for something very important to me in a body of water, I’m going to guess the lake outside. I’ll have an hour.”

“Something very important to you? Like what?”

“A broomstick, perhaps? I think it might be… people. That’s just the sort of demented shite I could expect from the Ministry for Magic.”

Hermione tensed visibly. “You mean me?”

“You’re the most important person in my life, Hermione. My mothers are a close second but I doubt they’d kidnap Hogwarts staff members and subject them to it, particularly the Deputy Headmistress of all people,” Harry said, shrugging.

“Fair point,” Hermione said. “Well this is pants.”

“I’m hoping it isn’t you, of course, but... you know what I mean, right?” Harry asked, looking unsure.

“I do,” Hermione affirmed, frowning deeply. “I suppose we’ll know in February, then.”

“The question now is—how the bloody hell am I supposed to breathe? I mean, I suppose there’s always the Bubble-Head Charm, but there’s got to be other options. Transfiguration? Probably too risky to do without impeding myself in the process—I might ask Neville about if there’s anything in Herbology that might help. He’d probably know,”

“It’s worth a shot,” Hermione said with a nod. “We’ll focus on that until the day of the Task, and hopefully we can get you ready. You’re not going to be allowed anything other than a wand, are you?”

Harry nodded, and Hermione looked annoyed. “A Bubble-Head charm and a lot of vigilance might be your best ticket, Harry.”

“Perhaps,” Harry said, looking thoroughly displeased at such a limited range of options.

Winter continued to fly by even further. A new year had been rung in and celebrated by Harry and her friends, but her focus remained resolutely on the coming of the Second Task. She had taken to practicing a litany of spells (some successful and some not)—and had come to figure out what would be her best bet to surviving the whole lake debacle.

She had briefly thought about using Gillyweed, but after talking with Neville about it, had come to the realization that there were too many unknown factors involved, and that she would be taking a big risk if it wasn’t fresh enough and failed to hold for the full hour.

The evening before the task itself, Harry had been enjoying a nice dinner with her friends, when she felt the looming presence of a Potions professor behind her. Craning her head, she blinked at Snape’s rather sour-looking expression.

“Miss Granger,” Snape said, glancing down at Harry’s girlfriend. “I require your presence in my office at once,”

Hermione stood up. “Yes, sir,” She said, before placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“I’ll be back tonight, Harry. Alright?” She said with a smile, gently running her hand down Harry’s cheek. Harry, however, only frowned at her retreating form, doubly so when she noticed Marietta Edgecombe and Hannah Abbott being led out of the Great Hall by their respective heads of house.

Once she’d returned to the Common Room, she pulled Crookshanks into her lap and quietly, and anxiously waited as patiently as she could for her girlfriend to return. One hour turned into two, which turned into many, and Harry was beginning to feel the pooling anxiety in her stomach, along with irritation and a prickling sickness. Had she been right on the nose in her first guess? Were they taking Hermione away from her for the task?

She didn’t get an iota of sleep that night. Every time she’d tried to lay down, she’d been plagued with anxiety and the very noticeable lack of Hermione sleeping next to her. Just after midnight, she gave up trying to sleep, and made her way up to the Astronomy Tour, where she sat and watched the stars, wrapped her invisibility cloak until the sun began to rise over the foggy horizons. She knew she’d pay for it later for not sleeping, but she was worried beyond belief.

She had been the first one down to the Lake that morning, and had quickly changed into the provided wetsuit. It was decorated in Slytherin green, fitting the specific colours given to each of the other champions—Krum was in Durmstrang maroon, Fleur was in Beauxbatons eggshell blue, and Cho was in Ravenclaw azure. It was amusing to her that such painful attention had been taken to so specific of a thing like swimsuits. She wondered, if she hadn’t been drawn from the Goblet, would Cho have been wearing all four colours of Hogwarts?

The image of Cho swimming in the lake wearing red, blue, green and yellow made her stifle a laugh as she stoically waited for the Event to begin.

When the time had finally come, Harry knew the water was going to be absolutely frigid, and clutched her wand tightly in her hand. She had been practicing warming charms and the like for weeks, including all night last night. It would probably strain her magic to keep both running at the same time, but she felt confident enough that she could get away with it.

Bagman had given some blustery words on behalf of the judges about good luck, and a few other things, soliciting rumblings and cheers from the crowd on behalf of their favourite competitors. Harry glanced at her competitors for a moment before staring dead ahead at the inky black waters of the lake in front of her. She was going to rescue her Hermione, and there was nary a force in Hell nor on Earth that would stop her!

When the whistle trilled, Harry didn’t jump in right away. She delayed herself a moment by waving her wand and applying the warming and bubblehead charms. Immediately afterwards, she dived into the water. It was still cold, but far more survivable than it otherwise would have been. As well, being able to breathe was a nice bonus as well.

The first thing she dealt with were a swarm of Grindylows. She didn’t like the bastards. The little aquatic demon spawn had tried to overwhelm her, but Harry had let off a litany of cutting curses, either slashing the little demons or forcing them to retreat. After managing to quickly dispatch the attack, Harry navigated the murky waters in search of her girlfriend.

As she approached some rocky outcroppings, she began to hear the siren’s song of merpeople in the distance.

“Hmpf,” Harry frowned, as she continued to move towards them. Over the outcroppings and down into a small valley, she saw a large village standing, only barely lit by the sun distant above the surface of the water. Dozens of merpeople were crowded around four distant figures, floating helplessly in the water.

The merpeople stared at her as she neared the village, and she gave a little involuntary shiver. They had sludgy grey skin, yellow eyes, and sharp, almost visceral teeth. Their stare was so unnerving.

Harry, gripped with growing panic and desperation to _save Hermione_, moved quickly to close the distance between herself and her girlfriend. As she arrived, she realized Hermione was bound to a large statue of a merman with thick ropes.

Pulling her wand out, she swiped it ferociously at the binds.

“Diffindo!” Harry commanded, her wand flaring but then quickly sputtering out. Her eyes widened in shock, before anger clouded her face.

“You bloody... useless... _fucking wand!_” Harry spat in anger. She began to slash at the binds angrily with her wand. “_DIFFINDO! DIFFINDO! DIFFINDO! DIFFINDO!_”

Her face was turning redder by the moment, before she realized that her furor and anger was going nowhere—her wand insisted on remaining totally inert.

Looking around for an alternative solution, she spied some rocks sitting nearby, ones that looked quite sharp. Picking up one off the seafloor, she swam back over to Hermione’s binds and began to slash at them. After some hacking, she was eventually able to free Hermione. Slipping her girlfriend into a position she could pull her towards the shore while keeping her wand hand free, Harry set off immediately back towards where she’d come from.

However, the swarm of grindylows returned with a vengeance, and Harry’s anger, already ready to reach fever pitch, was leaving her not feeling particularly merciful. Snarling, Harry decided to cut loose. Gripping her wand and aiming it directly at the coming horde of grindylows, she grit her teeth and shouted as loud as she could.

_“BOMBARDA MAXIMA!”_

Her wand at last complied with her, even if only _somewhat_ reluctantly, as the area in front of her exploded. She could tell that the crowds on the surface would have witnessed a tremendous geyser shoot out of the water. With the grindylows now no-longer in existence, Harry began to pull Hermione away and towards the shore at a more expedient pace.

Already, she was beginning to feel the onset of cramping in her legs and arms that accompanied magical exhaustion, and the throbbing pain in her left arm was informing her that she _may_ have broken her arm from the sheer percussive backfire of the explosion.

Managing to reach the surface with Hermione clutched in her arms, the adrenaline in her body allowing her to ignore the shooting pains in her arms, she was able to take a few steps, looking out at the crowd and judges, before she summarily collapsed, and passed out.

...

When Harry awoke again, it was dark out, and she recognized that she had once again landed in hospital. She’d done pretty well with staying away from this place, but here she was—with an injury, _again_.

The second thing that hit her was the _pain radiating from every part of her body._ She let out a wheeze and clamped her eyes shut trying to not focus on the pain. It hurt _so badly._

Her limbs felt like they were made of lead, her chest hurt, and her head felt like someone had just split it open with a pickaxe. Barely able to keep her eyes open, she quickly fell back asleep.

When she opened her eyes again, she noticed a lot of people standing around her. Once she had her glasses back, she realized it was Dumbledore, Snape, Madame Pomfrey, her mother, and Hermione. She blinked away the pain pooling behind her eyes and gave everyone a wan smile.

“Hullo,” She said. “Erm, good morning?”

“Harry!” Hermione said, hugging her but not squeezing too much. “We’ve been so worried; you’ve been out cold for three days!”

“Three days?” Harry said, looking stunned. That would explain why her mouth felt like she’d stuffed it with cotton.

“Madame Pomfrey says you hit critical magical exhaustion. What happened down there in the Lake?” Dumbledore asked, looking at her carefully.

“Grindylows tried to swarm me and Hermione,” Harry said simply. “I used a Bombarda Maxima on them and... my wand worked a little too well. It’s being funny right now.”

Dumbledore nodded, and stroked his beard. “Well, as long as you’re alright. That’s what truly matters—you took first place in the Task. Mister Krum came in second, Miss Chang in third, and Miss Delacour failed to finish.”

“She failed to finish? What happened to her sister?”

“We retrieved them both from the Lake and they’re doing just fine. They were here with you for a day before they were discharged by Madame Pomfrey.”

“Well... that’s good,” Harry said. “I’m still not happy they used human hostages for the task. I would like to question the wisdom of who decided that was an acceptable thing to do, but I won’t,”

“I assure you, Harry, I vehemently disagreed with them the entire time they planned this little charade. I would never intentionally put any student here in harm’s way if I could help it. All the students here are under my care, and I want to see them survive to finish Hogwarts, regardless of circumstance,” Dumbledore said, looking quite serious and grave.

“I know you wouldn’t put anybody in harm’s way intentionally, Professor. I’m just... bothered by it, is all,” Harry said, frowning. “It’s just... _wrong_, what they did.”

“I agree fully,” Hermione said. “I was downright terrified when Professor Snape told me what they were doing. I could have refused, but... I knew you’d be there for me Harry; I didn’t worry about it one bit. Honestly, you gave me a bit of a scare once they’d revived me and told me you’d passed out. I thought you’d died or something!”

“You’re too nice, love,” Harry said, gently taking Hermione’s hand in hers. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Hermione said, kissing her forehead.

“Get some rest, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “You deserve it.”

...

Harry focused her efforts in the ensuing weeks on getting her DADA practicals up to snuff for her eventual OWL exam. She felt genuinely confident that she would be able to take care of pretty much anything thrown her way.

That was, until the _hate mail started_ rolling in. Apparently, Crouch Jr. had to go on personal leave for a week due to the circumstances surrounding his father’s incarceration at Azkaban, and they had appointed some woman to fill in the gaps. It hadn’t been very long before she’d written this tremendous expose on Harry Potter’s personal love life, feeling that Barty, while reporting the events fairly and concisely, had left out the ‘human factor’.

The amount of hate mail that showed up at Hermione’s breakfast plate had made Harry upset. The fact she’d started getting _howlers and jinxed letters_ had made Harry _incandescent_.

Ultimately, what had saved Harry’s rashers, and metaphorically, her sanity, was Draco Malfoy threatening the young woman on the Friday before she departed back to the Daily Prophet that if any further damaging information was published about Harry or Hermione, she’d be hearing from the Black family solicitor and then she’d have a _real_ problem on her hands.

Harry found out that, yes, Sirius had indeed threatened to sue the Daily Prophet for damages if they continued to publish libellous information about Harry and Hermione’s relationship. It had been a very fussy week, at that point.

When Easter had come around, things had finally settled back to some modicum of normalcy. Harry still frequently got letters from her various extended family members: that being Sirius and Narcissa, really.

Narcissa was always in the mood to discuss her new abodes. In the reorganization of the Malfoy family following it’s effective dissolution (Draco had to sign some documents, she wrote, but she wanted to have a long discussion with him about it beforehand, so she was postponing it until summer; so she was merely Regent of the Family at the moment), she had abandoned the Malfoy Manor, leaving it utterly derelict, and had sold most of the family’s properties, except for the al-Mariyah estate, and had used the funds to purchase an old abandoned castle in Cambridge which she was renovating into her new permanent home.

She also described that she was staying, for now, with Andromeda, Ted and Nymphadora Tonks, who were apparently Harry’s cousins through some convoluted blood relationship. Her eyes sort of swam whenever it was explained to her, so she’d long since given up trying.

Sirius had talked about his getting accustomed to being a free man, and working tirelessly with the counselors and how he’d been so very sorry he’d missed _all_ her tasks up to that point, but that he’d be at the very least present during the third task, so she’d need not worry about that. He’d described what it was like staying along the Tiber river, and that Rome had always captured his fancy as a boy.

As the months slowly waned, and the Third Task grew ever closer, Harry was summoned one muggy afternoon in the last week of May, held back by her mother at the end of Transfiguration.

“You are to go down to the Quidditch pitch tonight at nine o’clock,” Her mother said, looking at her properly. “Some nonsense about Ludo Bagman telling you what the third task will be.”

“Oh, joy,” Harry said, rubbing her eyes in annoyance.

At half-past eight, she’d left the Slytherin common room (albeit reluctantly), and had gone up to the Entrance Hall. Cho smiled at her as they walked down to the pitch together.

“What do you think it’s going to be?” Cho asked quietly. “I’ve heard it’s supposed to be some sort of underground challenge.”

“I wouldn’t know, but that doesn’t sound too bad,” Harry said, thinking about the Nifflers that Hagrid had taken them through in Care of Magical Creatures. She could always ask to borrow one of them buggers.

As they approached the Quidditch pitch, both Seekers gaped at what had been done.

“What’d they do the Quidditch pitch!” Cho shouted, looking horrified. “They’ve ruined it!”

“Are these… hedges?” Harry murmured, running her hand on the top of the stocky bushes.

“Hello there!” A voice said, and the two turned to see Ludo Bagman standing in the middle of the pitch with Krum and Fleur. The two Hogwarts champions made their way over, climbing over the hedges.

“What do you think?” Bagman asked happily. “Growing nicely, aren’t they? Give them a month, and Hagrid says they’ll be twenty-feet high!”

He looked at Harry and Cho, and their less than amused expressions. “Don’t worry, you two. You’ll have your Quidditch pitch back to normal before you know it. As soon as the task is done, we’ll clear all this out of here. Now, I imagine you can guess what we’re making here?”

Everyone just sort of fixed him with a half-lidded stare.

“Of course, a maze,” Bagman said. “A maze—the third task’s centered around that, you see. The Triwizard Cup will be placed in the centre of the maze; all you have to do is reach the end first. The champion who does it first gets full marks.”

“We simply have to get through a maze?” Fleur asked, looking incredulous.

“Well, there’ll be obstacles, of course,” Bagman said, happily. “Hagrid’s providing a whole number of creatures, there’ll be spells that require some breaking, all sorts of things like that. The Champion leading in points,” He nodded to Harry. “Will get to go first, followed by everyone else in sequential order.”

Harry was aware just how dangerous it would be, given that _Hagrid_ would be the one providing creatures for it. She thought this was going to be a right pain in her neck and wished she could’ve just never gotten involved in this utter trite of a tournament _to start with._

Harry made her way back up to the Castle without any sort of side-tracking. She just really didn’t want to be out and about, particularly with how rotten this year had gone for her. She was much happier by the fire, or in bed, with her girlfriend curled up with her. That was all she wanted and _fuck this stupid tournament so much_

She sighed. It had to get better, right?

...

In the weeks before the Third Task, Harry found herself once again locked in ‘philosophical back-and-forth’ with Dumbledore. The older man had deemed it time for her to open her eyes to more pressing matters relating to the Death Eaters, and the circumstances around the fateful Halloween that had left her orphaned, and the subsequent aftermath after she’d been taken to Number Four Privet Drive.

To that end, he had conjured up his pensieve—the very same device he and Harry had used in second year to review the memories of Dumbledore’s conversation with Armando Dippett after the death of Moaning Myrtle. Instead, Dumbledore conjured up a new memory from his collection, and sighed.

“Harry, these are a compilation of memories I thought you should see, to gain a better understanding of what circumstances took place after Voldemort’s fall,” Dumbledore said simply, before beckoning Harry to dip her head into the Pensive.

She found herself falling through the darkness before landing roughly on a bench, sandwiched between two versions of Dumbledore—the one she had just been speaking to, and one that looked close to a decade younger. It didn’t make a massive difference, though. Harry noted that this had to have taken place in the early 80s, when she was just a baby. It was no surprise to her that Dumbledore didn’t change much after the war.

“Take in your environment, Harry,” The modern Dumbledore murmured in her ear. Harry glanced around the room taking in the details. It was clearly subterranean, more of a dungeon than a proper room, only lit by some poorly designed torches, casting dim orange light around the room. No decorations adorned the walls, no windows either, simply rows upon rows of rising benches, all positioned they had a clear view of that chair with the chains on its arms.

Before Harry could really dwell much on the room itself, the double-doors at the far corner of it opened, and one man entered, accompanied by two Dementors. She fought back a grimace at the sight of them.

She had… _effectively_ rendered the Dementors extinct. Certainly, they could come back—they were non-corporeal entities, but she’d damaged their numbers too severely for them to pose much of a threat. The man in between the two hooded creatures looked pale and was shaking violently, no doubt due to the sheer proximity involved.

It wasn’t until the man was properly shackled to the chair that Harry realized she was staring down at Igor Karkaroff. Unlike Dumbledore, Karkaroff looked much younger than he did now—his hair and goatee were jet black, though he lacked the fine furs he wore as Headmaster of Durmstrang, instead an Azkaban tunic and robes, thin and worn.

“Igor Karkaroff,” said a curt voice to Harry’s left, and she craned to look at the source. She only barely recognized the man as Bartemius Crouch, Sr.—she’d read in the papers that he’d been arrested and charged with a litany of crimes, and subsequently sentenced to Azkaban himself. The public odds on him surviving very long had been low.

The man was responsible for putting most of the people in the cells around him _in_ Azkaban, after all.

“You have been brought from Azkaban to give evidence to the Ministry for Magic. You have given us to understand that you could have important information for us,” He finished, narrowing his eyes.

“I have, sir,” Karkaroff wheezed, voice dripping with terror. “I wish to be of use to the Ministry. I wish… to help. I—I know the Ministry is trying to round up the last of the Death Eaters, I am, uh, eager, to help in any way I can!”

Murmuring broke out among the benches.

“Filth,” the familiar voice of Mad-Eye Moody said, and Harry turned to see a much younger Moody sitting one row above the past version of Dumbledore. He still had both of his natural eyes—he’d not gotten his magical one yet, but he did have a chunk of his nose missing. Both of his eyes were fixated on Karkaroff, narrowed in intense hatred.

“Crouch is going to let him out,” Moody said in a low voice. “He’s made a deal. If he’s got enough names, he’ll walk free—I say let the bastard give us the names, then throw him to the Dementors.”

Past Dumbledore made a dissenting noise with his nose, looking at Moody disapprovingly.

“Ah, that’s right—you don’t like them buggers, do you?” Moody asked, eyebrow raised.

“No,” Dumbledore said irritably. “I’ve never liked the Ministry allying itself with those creatures.”

“I still don’t,” Modern Dumbledore interjected, with a shake of his head. “I have you to thank for finally ending such a sordid unholy alliance. It took some doing, but the Minister seemed to agree that the Dementors weren’t doing a very good job as prison guards, or in defending Hogwarts.”

“You say you have names for us, Karkaroff,” Crouch said suddenly, interrupting the quiet conversation in the galley. “Let us hear them, please,”

Harry rolled her eyes as Karkaroff continued to grovel and plea, and she could tell Barty Crouch was getting more and more annoyed at the delay in Karkaroff’s testimony, before slamming his gavel down.

“The names, Mr. Karkaroff. The _names!_” He said sternly.

“There was… ah, Antonin Dolohov,” Karkaroff said. “I—I saw him torture countless Muggles, and non-supporters of the Dark Lord.”

“We have already apprehended Dolohov,” Crouch said. “He was caught shortly after you were.”

“Indeed?” Karkaroff said, eyes widened. “Good!”

Harry doubted he thought it was good, given the way his eyes had widened and his breathing had hitched.

“Any others?” Crouch added, glaring at the man.

“Yes, uh, Rosier. Evan Rosier,” Karkaroff said hurriedly.

“Rosier is dead,” Crouch responded immediately. “He was found just after you were, he preferred to go down fighting rather than coming quietly, and was killed in the struggle,”

“Took bits of me with him,” Moody said, growling. Harry had always wondered where part of Moody’s nose had gone, that was… interesting to learn.

“Have you any more names, Mister Karkaroff?” Crouch said boredly. “Or are we done with this charade?”

“Yes! I have more!” Karkaroff pleaded. “Travers! He helped murder the McKinnons! Mulciber—he specialized in the Imperius Curse, forced countless people to do horrific things! Rookwood, he was a spy! Yes, Rookwood passed information to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named from within the Ministry itself!”

There was murmuring all around the room and Harry got the general impression that Karkaroff had hit the right nerve.

“Rookwood?” Crouch said, stroking his chin. “Augustus Rookwood of the Department of Mysteries?”

“The very same!” Karkaroff said, eagerly. “I believe he used a network of well-placed people within the Ministry and without to collect information!”

Crouch nodded, before shaking his head. “We’ve got Travers and Mulciber. If this is all, Karkaroff, you will be returned to Azkaban while we deliberate—”

“No!” Karkaroff cried. “Wait, I have more! I have more!”

Harry could tell, just barely, that Karkaroff was dripping sweat by the bucket load, his pale, pallid skin contrasting with the sharp black hair he had.

“Snape!” Karkaroff said panicking. “Severus Snape! He was a Death Eater!”

“Snape has been cleared by this council,” Crouch said suddenly. “He has been vouched for by Albus Dumbledore,”

“No!” Karkaroff shouted, straining at the bonds keeping him bound down. “I assure you, Severus Snape is a loyal Death Eater!”

“I have given evidence on this already,” The Dumbledore from the memory said, standing up to his full height. “Severus Snape was indeed a Death Eater, however. However, he re-joined our side before Lord Voldemort’s downfall and turned spy for us, at great personal risk. He is now no more a Death Eater than I am.”

Harry raised her eyebrow and gave Dumbledore a look. “Rather… strong declaration of loyalty, isn’t it?”

“I felt it a necessity,” Dumbledore said sagely.

Suddenly, the memory began to fade, before it popped back into existence. This time, Harry and Dumbledore were seated in a different seat, still on the highest bench, but now to the left-side of the elder Crouch. The atmosphere here was... palpably different. It seemed almost like a sporting event, with the low murmur and the cheerful attitudes across the crowd.

She briefly noticed a blonde witch in the galley opposite herself, wearing magenta robes and sucking on the end of an acid-green quill. Harry had seen a photograph of her in the news when they’d found her body. It was a young version of the late Rita Skeeter. Harry glanced around for more familiar faces—she noted the past version of Dumbledore was wearing a different set of robes, the elder Crouch was more tired and gaunt looking.

Harry wondered how long after the first memory this one took place.

The door in the corner opened, and Harry blinked in shock as Ludo Bagman entered the room. This was... clearly not the same Ludo Bagman she’d had the misfortune of interacting with, this was a much more fit version of him. His nose wasn’t broken, he had muscles and looked like the Quidditch athlete he’d been before he’d gone to seed.

He looked nervous as he sat down in the chained chair, and smiled as it didn’t bind him down, waving at the crowd which murmured in admiration.

“Ludo Bagman, you have been brought here in front of the Council of Magical Law to answer charges relating to the activities of the Death Eaters,” Crouch began, irritated. “We have heard evidence against you, and are about to reach our verdict. Do you have anything to add to your testimony before we pronounce judgement?”

Harry blinked in surprise. _Bagman? A Death Eater? What a laughable concept..._

“Only,” Bagman said, smiling awkwardly. “Well, I know I’ve been a bit of an idiot...”

Harry noticed a couple wix in the surrounding seats smiled indulgently, but this didn’t come anywhere close to the indignation she saw in Crouch’s face.

“Ludovic Bagman, you were caught passing information to Lord Voldemort’s supporters,” Crouch said, voice in a low growl. “For this, I suggest a term of imprisonment in Azkaban lasting no less than—”

An angry uproar from the galleys drowned out Crouch’s recommended sentencing. People were clearly displeased in the idea of sentencing a hero of British Quidditch to a prison sentence even if he had been somewhat involved in the Dark Lord’s reign of terror.

“I’ve told you, I had no idea!” Bagman called earnestly over the din, his round blue eyes widening in horror. “None at all! Old Rookwood was a friend of my dad’s... It never crossed my mind that he was in with You-Know-Who! I thought he was collecting information for our side, you know. And he kept talking to me about getting me a job in the Ministry later on, you know, once my Quidditch days are over. I can’t keep getting hit by Bludgers the rest of my life!”

There were titters of mirth from the crowd at that last comment.

“It will be put to the vote,” Crouch demurred. “The jury will please raise their hands... those in favour of imprisonment?”

Harry noted that not a single soul raised their hand against Bagman, and snorted in amusement. Even when dealing with people accused, and straight up admitting to aiding terrorist groups, popularity in the eyes of the public were the key to avoiding getting slapped with a prison sentence.

One of the witches in the jury stood up.

“Yes?” Crouch barked, glaring at the woman.

“We would just like to congratulate Mr. Bagman on his splendid performance for England in the Quidditch match against Ephesus last Saturday,” the witch said, breathlessly. The look on Mr. Crouch made Harry start laughing, as the crowd rung with applause and approval at Bagman’s performance in Quidditch.

After she stopped laughing, Harry fixed Dumbledore with a serious look. “People don’t take these sorts of things very seriously, do they?”

“It can depend entirely on the circumstances. Nobody wanted to convict a man like Ludo, given his popularity. It was far easier to send others to rot in prison instead.”

The dungeon dissolved once more, before being replaced by a much more sombre one. The mirth from the last memory was gone, now replaced by a cold, unyielding silence. The only break in the atmosphere was the sobbing of a frail, wispy-looking witch sitting next to the elder Crouch. She was clutching a handkerchief to her mouth and trembling violently. Glancing over at the elder Crouch, she noted that he was even more gaunt and pale, twitching all the while.

“Bring them in,” He said, stone-faced.

The door in the corner opened yet again, Six Dementors came in this time, accompanied by a group of four people. Harry’s eyes widened in recollection as she noticed one of the men in the group. It was... the reporter! Bartemius Crouch... Jr. The old man’s son.

Oh _no._

She also recognized Cousin Narcissa’s insane sister, Bellatrix Lestrange—not just from the family resemblance but also from the wanted posters she’d seen since her escape from Azkaban. She assumed the other two men were fellows of hers, maybe husbands or lovers.

Crouch stood up, and Harry noted the twisted, unyielding face of pure hatred on his face.

“You have been brought here before the Council of Magical Law,” He pronounced clearly and loudly. “So that we may pass judgement on you for a crime so _heinous..._”

“Father,” Barty Jr. croaked, looking pleadingly at his father. “Father, please.”

“...that we have rarely heard the like of it within this court,” Crouch said angrily, drowning out his son’s pleas. “We have heard the evidence against you. The four of you stand accused of capturing an Auror—Frank Longbottom, and subjecting him to the Cruciatus curse, believing him to have knowledge of the present whereabouts of your exiled master, He Who Must Not Be Named—”

“Father! I didn’t,” Crouch Jr. pleaded. “I didn’t, I swear it! Father! Don’t send me back to the Dementors...”

“You are further accused,” Mr. Crouch bellowed. “of using the Cruciatus Curse on Frank Longbottom’s wife, Alice, when he would no longer give you information. You planned to restore He Who Must Not Be Named to power, and to resume the lives of violence you presumably led while he was strong. I now ask the jury—”

Barty Jr. devolved into babbling cries of mercy and pleas of innocence, joined by the cacophony of his mother, presumably the witch by Crouch Sr.’s side, breaking down into sobs.

“I now ask the Jury,” Mr. Crouch shouted, “to raise their hands if they believe as I do, that their crimes deserve a life sentence in Azkaban.”

It was unanimous, Harry noted, and Barty’s pleas fell on deaf ears as he was dragged from the courtroom by the Dementors. Bellatrix Lestrange, however, stopped before she left and looked at Crouch through her demented, half-lidded eyes.

“The Dark Lord will rise again, Crouch! Throw us into Azkaban, we’ll wait! He will rise again and reward his faithful with the heads of our enemies!” She cackled.

Dumbledore sighed and placed his hand on Harry’s elbow, and they surged from the memory, landing back in Dumbledore’s office in present day.

“I don’t get it—if Barty Crouch Jr. was convicted of torturing Neville’s parents, then why is he walking free and considered some kind of hero?” Harry asked, looking confused.

“The court of public opinion, my dear girl,” Dumbledore said with a sigh, sitting at his desk and looking agitated. “The fact that Crouch Sr. broke his son out of Azkaban, condemning his wife to certain death, and used an unforgivable to keep him imprisoned underneath his house was more than enough to convince the public to put Crouch Sr. in jail, and once that happened... the debacle over Sirius’s imprisonment allowed for people to begin to remember that Barty had professed his innocence so strongly, and that Crouch Sr. had railroaded him in the process.”

“Good lord,” Harry said, rubbing her eyes. “What do you think about him, Professor?”

“I would say to be incredibly careful, Harry,” Dumbledore said firmly. “My trust is very hard to earn; the only reason Severus has kept it as long as he has is because everything he has done has been to the benefit of our efforts against Voldemort. I cannot say the same for Karkaroff, particularly after his attempts to broach the subject with Severus; and nor can I say the same about Barty Jr.”

Dumbledore folded his arms and looked weary. “I suspect Voldemort is growing in power, given the sort of things I’ve learned from Severus... I must once again urge you to be _incredibly careful_,” He said.

“I will, sir,” Harry said quietly.


	7. Duel of the Fates, Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry: "It's over, Tom. I have the high ground!"  
Tom: "You under-estimate my power!"

Harry had kept what she’d discovered during the conversation with Dumbledore, and their journey to the Pensieve to herself. As it was, during the days leading up to the tournament’s Third Task, she was largely left to her own devices as her friends and girlfriend were preoccupied with preparing for their finals, which she had been exempted from.

Hermione had tried to help her as much as possible, teaching her the Four-Point Spell that she’d picked up from a book, but otherwise hadn’t been able to do much that Harry hadn’t already known from her tutoring sessions and self-practices.

On the morning of the task, Harry was eating breakfast in the Great Hall, trying to eat light as so not to disturb her stomach (she swore, she had the stomach of a person thrice her age given how sensitive it was all the bleeding time), when Snape had descended upon her from the Staff Table.

“Mister Potter. You will report to the chamber off the Hall as soon as you’re done with breakfast,” He said.

Harry nearly choked and swallowed a painful bite of egg. “I thought the task wasn’t until tonight?”

“It isn’t until tonight, but there’s some... little ceremony where the champion’s families are invited to watch the final task. It’s rather pointless for you, given your mothers, but you are still required to attend anyway,” Snape said dryly.

“Right, I see,” Harry said, raising her eyebrow. “Thank you, sir,”

She finished her breakfast in the emptying Great Hall. Fleur got up and walked with Cho to the side chamber, and Krum slouched off to join them soon afterwards. Once she’d finished her breakfast, she got up and walked to the side chamber, opening the door.

Cho and her parents were just inside the door, Krum was over in a corner conversing in terse Bulgarian with his dark-haired parents, and Fleur was jabbering away in French with her mother, along with Gabrielle—Fleur’s little sister.

Minerva and Rolanda were seated by the fireplace, looking at the assembled group through half-lidded eyes. Minerva smiled at her daughter as she entered the room and beckoned for her to come over.

“_I’m sorry for such a pointless display,_” Minerva began in Scottish Gaelic, soliciting a stifled laugh from Harry.

“_It’s quite alright, Mum,_” Harry replied. “_Fancying not being overheard?_”

“_Nobody else here is speaking English, why should we? We’re not English, we’re Scottish._” Minerva said, folding her arms petulantly.

Harry snorted and shook her head.

Harry enjoyed the morning with her mothers, it reminded her of her childhood, spending some of the off-periods walking the grounds, feeling free as a bird.

“_I’m sorry I haven’t been able to be here for most of your conquests, my dear,_” Rolanda said quietly. “_With the Quidditch season cancelled and my mother..._”

"_I understand, Lala. It’s been rough for you dealing with that,"_ Harry said, resting a gentle hand on his other mother’s arm.

Rolanda wrapped Harry in a tight hug, and Harry smiled brightly.

When they returned to the castle for lunch, Minerva and Rolanda had unnerved many Slytherins around them by sitting with Harry as they ate.

“Bleeding weird,” Draco had said. “The Head of Gryffindor House is sitting next to us.”

“I’ve found, Mister Malfoy, that over the last few terms, the historical rivalry between our houses has begun an inexorable decline, and I suppose we have nobody but Harry to thank for that,”

Draco bobbed his head, glancing behind his shoulder at Ron, who gave him a wink.

The afternoon had been spent in much the same way, but with Harry, Minerva and Rolanda having a deep conversation about what she’d discovered with Dumbledore, and her continued feeling of anxiety over... all sorts of things. As the evening approached, Harry’s nerves were _shot_. Once the sky had turned a dusky purple, Dumbledore rose and tapped his goblet.

“Ladies, gentlemen, esteemed guests—in five minutes’ time, I will be asking you to make your way down to the Quidditch pitch for the third, and final task of the Triwizard Tournament. Will the champions all please follow Mr. Bagman down there now?”

Harry stood up, glancing at everyone before her eyes fell upon Hermione. She pulled Hermione to her feet and grasped her shoulders.

“This is it,” Harry said quietly. “Do or die.”

“You’ll be fantastic, love,” Hermione whispered. “I just know it.”

“I love you, so very much,” Harry said, before kissing Hermione deeply.

“I know,” Hermione said, smiling and nudging Harry. “Now go on, kick some arse.”

Harry headed out of the Great Hall, brightly grinning, the three champions in her company. Cho glanced at her and gave her a reassuring pat.

When they arrived at the Quidditch pitch, it had been rendered utterly unrecognizable. There were now twenty-foot high hedges that ran all throughout it, creating an incorrigible maze. The passage beyond the entrance looked down right spooky, and Harry felt a prickling unease at the back of her skull.

Five minutes later, the stands began to fill with people. The champions were approached by Professors Hagrid, Lockhart, McGonagall and Flitwick, all wearing large, red, luminous stars on their hats, except for Hagrid, who had it on his moleskin waistcoat.

“We’ll be patrolling the outside perimeter,” Minerva said. “If you get into difficult, and wish to be rescued, send up red sparks, and one of us will come and get you. Understand?”

Everyone nodded.

“Then take your positions,” Bagman said, gesturing for them to get ready.

Soon, his booming voice filled the arena. “Ladies, gentleman, and esteemed guests. The third and final task is about to begin! Let me remind you how the points currently stand! In first place—Mister Harry Potter, of Hogwarts School! In second place—Mister Viktor Krum of Durmstrang! In third place—Miss Cho Chang, also of Hogwarts School! In fourth place—Miss Fleur Delacour, of Beauxbatons!”

“On my whistle, Harry,” Bagman proclaimed. “Three... two... one,”

As soon as she heard the shrill whistle, Harry burst forward into the maze. Casting a lumos, Harry took a left at the first fork. As she proceeded down this path, her wand lit, she heard the second whistle go off, indicating Krum had entered the maze.

Deciding to get some navigation, Harry cast the Four-Point spell, and quickly discerned her necessary path. The centre of the maze would be northwest of here. As she proceeded down the left fork and then a right pathway, she was beginning to get nervous at the sheer lack of obstacles in her path. Shouldn’t she be running into things like skrewts or something?

As she turned a corner, she came face to face with a tall, broad-chested, very _male_ Harry Potter.

“Freak,” He said in a low baritone.

Harry shrieked loudly and screamed _’RIDDIKULUS_’ at it, causing it to disintegrate with a loud bang. She surged past the boggart, only to run into a shimmering golden apparition—clearly some spell of some kind. Harry tried to cast a spell into it, but found it unmoving. Deciding to proceed forward, she quickly found the whole world spun the other way round, her feet dangling towards an unending sky.

“Oh, dear,” She murmured, before attempting to right herself. Immediately, the world righted herself, and she fell to the ground in a lump, groaning as she got up onto her feet again. That was... terrible.

Eventually, Harry began to make her way deeper into the maze, narrowly avoiding a sticky end at the hands of a Skrewt, before she came face to face with Viktor Krum, looking terrifyingly possessed. Harry had just the finest second when she realized Krum was raising his wand at her, and threw up a shield charm. Krum’s intended Cruciatus curse hit her shield, but she’d gotten better at controlling it, and only felt the slightest burn in her arms. Pushing forward, she lashed out a series of hexes and curses at Krum, knocking him out cold.

Sneering at the unconscious Bulgarian, Harry continued moving deeper into the maze, wondering where everybody had gone. She hadn’t noticed any red sparks, but... Krum was the first and only person she’d seen so far.

She came across a _sphinx_ of all things, and had to sit and negotiate over the riddle she gave her. It was quite difficult, but Harry felt she’d gotten it quick enough—_a spider_, using some convoluted English language puzzle.

Once she’d gotten past the sphinx, she realized she was on the home stretch now, as the Triwizard Cup stood on a gleaming pedestal only a hundred yards away from her. Harry broke into a furious run, and found no competition as she neared the cup. She was... _alone_. How very strange.

She took a deep breath. Here it was. The Triwizard Cup. She had proven to everyone she wasn’t just some little fourth year brat. She had done it. Would it have been better for her to let someone else win it? Sure, but she... had to show that she knew what she was doing, and prove to everyone she was more than just the legacy of James and Lily Potter. And she thought she had.

Smiling to herself, she grabbed onto the cup, feeling the familiar tug of a portkey in her navel. Her world spun by in a howl of wind and colour, and Harry felt the world slip away in an instant.

...

Harry felt her feet slam into the ground, and the deafening silence made Harry’s smile falter. This wasn’t Hogwarts. Looking up, she glanced around and recognized nothing familiar. There weren’t any mountains on the immediate horizon—they were standing in an overgrown and pitch black graveyard, only the fuzzy outline of a small church was visible to her beyond a large yew tree to her right.

“What the fuck,” Harry said, before the prickling feeling of being watched came over her.

Suddenly, the spasms of a Cruciatus curse hit her square in the back, causing her to fall to the dirt, writhing in pain. Just as the pain receded, it started up again, Harry crying out in agony as she was dragged over to a marble headstone, and she got the smallest glimpse of it before she was pushed upon it facing away from the words.

_Tom Riddle_.

Harry’s heartbeat quickened as the woman in the hood began to tie her up. She realized exactly who it was under the hood.

“Ah, I was wondering when I’d get to meet you, Cousin Bellatrix,” Harry said murmuring, barely able to speak.

Bellatrix merely sneered at her before going back to what she was doing, assembling a stone cauldron, among other things, while Harry watched the writhing figure in the pile of robes hiss commands at Bellatrix.

Eventually, the water was sparkling and glowing, and Bellatrix’s lips curled in pleasure. “It is ready, my master,” She said, reverence in her voice.

Harry watched as Bellatrix lifted... what looked like a rotten cadaver out of the robes, it was dark, reddish black, and feeble looking, but there was no mistaking those familiar, gleaming red eyes—Lord Voldemort.

“Bone of the father,” Bellatrix began. “Unknowingly given, you will renew your son!”

She cast a bone into the cauldron, given the fact that the grave in front of her had recently been defiled, she assumed it belonged to Tom Riddle’s father. What was it with men with “Junior” in their name having Daddy issues?

“Flesh of the servant,” She said, her eyes gleaming. “Willingly given, you will revive your master,” She said, before severing her own hand, causing it to fall into the boiling cauldron. She then turned her eyes to Harry and approached with the dagger in her hand.

“Blood of the enemy,” Bellatrix said, eyes glittering madly. “Taken forcibly, you will resurrect your foe.”

Harry could do nothing to prevent it, she was tied too tightly, and she’d dropped her wand in the fracas, as Bellatrix sliced open her right arm, taking the blood into a glass vial and taking it over to the cauldron. Pouring it in, it turned a blinding white before the cauldron began to rumble and simmer.

In a few moments, a dark outline of something thin as a skeleton climbed out of it, and picked up the robes offered to Bellatrix.

He turned to face Harry, and Harry realized exactly what had happened.

Indeed, Lord Voldemort had risen once more.

Voldemort strolled idly over to where Harry had dropped her wand on the ground and picked it up, eyeing it curiously, before sticking it in his robes. Extending his hand to Bellatrix, she reached into her robes and extended a wand to him. Harry felt a strange... kinship to the wand, and her eyes widened in realization.

_The Elder Wand._

Voldemort smiled and pressed the Elder Wand down into Bellatrix’s Dark Mark, causing her to hiss, both in half-orgasmic glee, and half-searing pain as she fell to her knees.

“Now, we shall see—who is truly loyal to me,” Voldemort said, half to himself as he turned towards Harry.

“You stand, Harry Potter, upon the remains of my late father,” He hissed softly. “A Muggle, and a fool, very much like your dear mother. But they had uses, did they not? Your mother died to defend you as a child, and I killed my father. See how useful he has proved himself in death,”

He began to laugh, shaking his head.

“You see that house there, Potter?” Voldemort said, gesturing at the mansion on the hill. “My father lived there. My mother, a witch who lived here, fell in love with him... but he abandoned her when she told him what she was. He didn’t like magic, not at all.”

He crossed in front of her and looked at her. “He left her, and returned to his Muggle parents before I was even born, Potter, and then she died giving birth to me. I was raised in a Muggle orphanage of all things, but I vowed to find him, I sought my revenge and got it against the man named _Tom Riddle_.”

He then laughed. “Look at me being sentimental, Harry! I must be getting quite daft in my old age, like Dumbledore. But look, Harry! Look! My true family returns at last!”

The air was filled with swishing cloaks, and Harry realized that a small legion of wizards was apparating into the graveyard, all wearing the same demented outfit from the attack on the World Cup.

One of them fell to his knees and crawled towards Voldemort, kissing the hem of his black robes, and many soon followed. 

Harry allowed herself resignation as she watched the court of a Mad King conduct itself in such a manner. She knew that he fully intended to kill her after this was all said and done, but she could feel the Elder Wand call to her, like a friend she’d never known she had.

Voldemort didn’t kill any of his faithful, but he bemoaned Peter Pettigrew and Lucius Malfoy’s incarceration in Azkaban, saying they would rejoin the faithful soon enough.

As the masks came off, Harry began to realize with growing nausea that all these people were _the parents of her friends_. Vincent’s father, Gregory’s father, Theodore’s father, and many other Slytherin parents stood before her, pledging their loyalty to a madman.

“I hear, Harry,” Voldemort began. “That you have gained quite the reputation... as the _Heir of Slytherin_. So I must ask, why do you stand so resolutely against me when you could have all the power you ever wanted? All the ambition? Why must you stand against me in this hour of triumph?”

Harry let out a weak laugh. “Salazar never believed in that sort of bile. He might not have liked Muggles, but he certainly didn’t condone the cold-blooded murder of them,”

She felt the sharp, burning pain again as Voldemort cast another Cruciatus. Her breathing became ragged as she stared at Voldemort through half-lidded eyes. She proceeded to mostly gloss over his long-winded explanation to his followers of his resurrection and saving by Pettigrew and Lestrange.

“With your abilities, your strength, your _ambition_, you could do so much more. Your wand, so close in build to mine… it is almost as if we are destined to be allies, Harry. You need not resist the appeal of power,” Voldemort said.

Harry spat at him, and he sent another wave of pain through her.

“Pity you are so blinded by Dumbledore to not see the truth. But now, we have been presented with the most... excellent opportunity,” Voldemort said, looking pleased. “With my two most loyal lieutenants at Hogwarts, and with that man Lockhart under his control, I will now have the opportunity to bring an end to Albus Dumbledore, and secure Hogwarts for ourselves!”

A pair of shears landed in Voldemort’s hand, and he shorn a large chunk of Harry’s hair off, looking at it eagerly.

“Is the Potion ready, Bellatrix?” He asked impatiently, and the woman nodded silently.

“Good, strip the boy of his clothes, and take this,” He handed the hair over, shaking his head. “Tie him up and lock him inside the tool-shed. Keep guard, and wait for my signal.”

Harry soon found herself stripped of all her clothes save for her boxers (thank god she’d decided not to wear a bra and knickers underneath her attire, wouldn’t that have been embarrassing) and locked inside of a tool-shed, all tied up. Harry was breathing quite raggedly, but she eventually got her breathing under control. 

This was... _a problem_, not to put too fine a point on it.

Now, she just needed to get herself untied, and escape. She’d lost her wand, no doubt Voldemort had taken it from her to keep up the illusion that he was her.

...

Albus Dumbledore was concerned. Harry Potter hadn’t shown up at the podium like he was supposed to--he’d never had much faith in the portkeys the Ministry had set up for the Triwiz, but this was getting ridiculous. As he ruminated on it, waiting patiently, there was a sudden flash of movement, and a young wizard was dumped onto the ground unceremoniously.

Dumbledore smiled and lead the round of applause, and announced that Harry had won the Triwizard Tournament, ordering everyone to head to the Great Hall for a festival and feast celebrating the Champion.

As they walked, Dumbledore walked alongside Harry, in the great thrall of people. “Where were you, Harry?”

Harry seemed tense, and gave Dumbledore a searching, dry look before shrugging. “The maze, sir,” He said, his voice low and tense.

“I see,” Dumbledore said, unable to dissuade the feeling in the back of his head that something was very off.

It wasn’t even anything conscious. When Harry spoke, or moved, or did anything, Albus, like many others, described it as staring into the sun. But Harry always seemed to embody the nourishing parts of the sun--the warmth, growth and renewal of the spring. Now… the young girl seemed to be the harsh parts of the sun. Scathing, bone-bleaching heat in the summer, relentless burning…

A trickling shiver went up his spine.

As they settled into the Great Hall, Dumbledore watched Harry very carefully, and the most disturbing thing about it was that when Hermione Granger had tried to congratulate her, Harry had simply pulled away from her suddenly, seeming almost disgusted, not even acknowledging her existence.

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow as soon as this happened. 

This... was most certainly not Harry Potter.

He then noticed there was a wand, tucked in Harry’s waistband, only just barely visible compared to the rowan wand in her hands. A wand that she shouldn’t have. _The Elder Wand._

Something was _very wrong._

_Oh Merlin. Harry, where are you?_

...

While Harry sat in the tool shed, recovering from the Cruciatus marathon she’d just endured, she’d begun to feel very warm all over, sweat pouring down her face in the otherwise cool shed. Suddenly, she felt something _snap_, and suffered a crashing wave of vertigo, causing her to fall over onto the cold stone floor. She continued to wriggle against her binds, and eventually felt them begin to weaken.

She looked at herself carefully. Something felt... _different._

She decided she’d worry about it later. She was glad her apparition was still a secret, and immediately decided her best course of action was to jump to Hogsmeade. She decided to quickly apparate away from the graveyard, intending on landing in Hogsmeade’s centre, and she managed it, thanking God for such fortune.

Still feeling a bit winded, she began to make her way towards Hogwarts. But with each step she took, she began to feel more and more like herself again. She felt the sun raging inside of her, and the anger began to boil, first at a low simmer, then as a raging tumult.

Tom Riddle would pay _in blood._

...

Dumbledore quietly watched as Ludo Bagman made public proclamations and congratulations to Harry, before inviting the young wix up to give a public speech about the whole affair.

Harry looked a bit put off, shaking his head furiously. Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and reached for his wand underneath the table as he felt a sudden shift in the air. The sudden change was palpable, and the entire room seemed to feel it, as Ludo’s awkward pivot to finish thanking everyone was interrupted as he swallowed his words. 

This was... _something else. And it was coming._

Suddenly, the room began to rattle.

"_DID YOU THINK YOU COULD TORTURE ME AND LOCK ME IN A CLOSET, TOM? THAT I WOULDN’T ESCAPE?"_ Harry’s thick Scottish accent carried from seemingly nowhere, bouncing off the walls harshly.

Suddenly, the door to the Great Hall opened, and Albus’ eyes widened in shock at the sight of Harry Potter, standing in just her boxers, at the front of the Hall, eyes blazing like the sun, full of anger, rage and righteousness.

"_YOU ARE PLAYING A DANGEROUS GAME, TOM."_

Harry’s voice was... _almost holy_, and carried like a thunderclap, and Albus shivered involuntarily at the power behind it.

The false Harry Potter stood up, trying to draw the Elder Wand. Suddenly, as if taking it from a mere child, the wand tugged from his grasp, and landed in the true Harry’s grasp.

The young wix only gave a half-lidded smile in response to the sudden power change. A wicked smirk crossed her face as she twirled it in her fingers, staring down her doppelgänger.

“Don’t just stand there! Bartemius! Severus! Do something!” Voldemort shouted, snarling at the two men on the side of the room.

Barty Crouch, Jr., stood up, sneering. “Gilderoy, kill the Mudblood. I’ll take care of the Headmaster. Severus, you take care of the boy.” He said, drawing his wand. He took direct aim at Dumbledore, and got the first syllable out before...

He gurgled. Albus watched as a slash through the intrepid reporter-but-Death Eater’s throat, no doubt from _somebody_’s wand began to grow with crimson blood. Barty, still gurgling, dropped his wand and collapsed to his knees, before expiring on the floor.

Harry’s defence against Gilderoy Lockhart’s Killing Curse was by throwing the Slytherin table at the man with a simple _flick_ of her wand. Albus was... stunned at the logistics of it. It was more than he could have ever hoped for her.

Hermione had been spared an almost certain death, and Lockhart caught a whole bench table to the face, sending him spilling backwards, slamming into the stone wall behind him. Albus himself had to slightly duck out of the way to avoid getting a face full of table himself.

“Want to keep trying, Tommy?” Harry said, the Elder Wand gripped tightly in her hand, aimed at her doppelgänger. She felt him try to call the Elder Wand over to him, but she felt it respond with some rather coarse language. Voldemort’s eyes narrowed, and he drew her rowan wand.

“_Avada Kedavra!_” Voldemort snarled, jabbing the rowan wand at Harry.

Harry flicked the wand and the Gryffindor table went flying at Voldemort. He managed to avoid getting hit by it, but the Killing Curse was rendered ineffective by the physical barrier. Not letting him get any time to readjust, she pushed forward.

“_Confringo!_” Harry retorted, shooting a percussive force at Voldemort.

The impact shattered the rowan wand into wooden shards, and Voldemort got the full brunt of the percussive force of the spell work, slamming into the stonework behind him. Gritting his teeth, he quickly recovered, glaring at the young wix.

“You will _die_, Harry Potter,” He said.

“Not if you die first, _Tom Riddle_,” Harry spat, the man’s name sounding like a violent curse on her tongue.

Voldemort, already breathing heavily from the fact he was in a duel not long after being resurrected, quickly scanned the room and realized the odds weren’t great. Frowning, he glared at Severus Snape, who had a wand aimed at him.

“Severus... how _unsurprising_ it is to see your betrayal. Sleep with one eye open,” the Dark Lord said, before turning into a shadow spectre and fleeing the Great Hall. Dumbledore closed his eyes and waited a minute before nodding.

“He has gone,” Dumbledore said finally, casting eyes across the crowds. “Professors, please escort all students to their dormitories at once.”

Dumbledore watched as Harry slowly ambled her way through the stunned crowd that was filing out of the Great Hall, approached Hermione, grabbed her head and looked her in the eyes very briefly, before unceremoniously passing out.

...

Harry felt like she’d been run flat by a lorry when she finally managed to open her eyes again. The light of the Hospital Wing was nearly blinding, but she managed to squint her way past it as she realized she was utterly alone, and not in the same general ward as she usually was.

As if on cue, one of the doors opened, and Madame Pomfrey entered, accompanied by Professor Dumbledore. Both looked quite troubled, and the healer immediately went to task scanning Harry over with numberless diagnostic spells while Dumbledore conjured up a seat in front of Harry’s bedside.

“That was some display, my dear,” Dumbledore said quietly. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“Like I’ve been flattened into a pancake multiple times over,” Harry mumbled. “What happened after I passed out?”

“Sheer pandemonium,” Dumbledore said simply. “A lot of things, truth be told. Naturally, given the nature of your confrontation with Tom in the Great Hall, the entire British wixen community knows by now, and the Ministry has gone into full-blown denial mode, accusing you of a very large litany of things. Nothing illegal, per se, but you have been accused of violating the terms of the Triwizard Tournament by using a seventh year student in Polyjuice to aid you.”

“_What_.” Harry said.

“Oh, yes, quite. As of now, you and I are perhaps two of the most public enemies of the Ministry other than the Death Eaters,” Dumbledore said plainly. “The Triwizard Cup ended up not being awarded to a single soul. Turns out all three of the other competitors refused, accusing the Ministry of a slander job.”

“Do we have any people who believe us?” Harry said, tiredly.

“Just about every Auror and DMLE official from top to bottom,” Dumbledore said, looking quite pleased. “Most of the people who hate us are on the bureaucratic side. Really saves our metaphorical rashers, given the fact that only the DMLE can issue warrants for detaining, questioning or arrest.”

“Delightful,” Harry said, rubbing her eyes. “What about Lockhart?”

“He’ll be right as rain in a few days. Confessed rather straight-away to being Imperioused by Barty Crouch. Saved yourself and Professor Snape a visit to Azkaban. By the way,” Dumbledore said, drawing a wand from his robes. “I believe this does belong to you.”

Harry accepted the Elder Wand from the Headmaster, and looked at it carefully. It hummed with pleasure at being reunited with its mistress.

“It’s very odd, how loyal that wand is to you. When I picked it up, I could _swear_ it was snarling at me,” Dumbledore said quietly. “I think it would take the force of Heaven and Earth combined to make that wand stop serving you, and you alone.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Harry said dryly.

Dumbledore nodded. “But there is something else... According to some of my intelligence assets, the Ministry is already planning to launch an education reform package over the summer, intending to eventually displace me as Headmaster. I believe, for the sake of your education, we suspend any further private meetings until we can agree the threat of the Ministry has been rendered... shall we say, nullified.”

“Until it falls to Voldemort, revolution, or I get fed up and hex someone off the face of the planet,” Harry said.

“Indeed,” Dumbledore said. “To be completely honest, you’ve done so well with all the things I’ve taught you until now, I could give you a list of things and I have no doubt you’d learn them in no time at all.”

“I’m not that good,” Harry said, blushing.

“Oh, but you are,” Dumbledore said, smiling. “Particularly with that wand there,”

Harry glanced at the Elder Wand again. Plucking petals off one of the flowers by her bedside, she waved her wand, and felt power course through her, making her shudder in pleasure. The petal turned, without fault, into what she wanted it to—it was now a rubber ball. She then cancelled the transfiguration, and set the petals down in her lap.

“It... feels good,” Harry said. “It doesn’t resist me.”

“It’s the wand you were always meant to carry, Harry,” Dumbledore said, shrugging his shoulders. “From the moment he marked you as his equal,” He tapped on her scar. “You were destined to carry that wand. It has long wanted for its true mistress.”

Dumbledore rose to his feet. “I assume you’d like to see Miss Granger? I’ve been quite serious in keeping the Ministry and anybody affiliated with it out of here while you’ve been recovering. Even the Ministry could not dispute you were hit with at least five Cruciatus curses, and tortured. They just deny it was Lord Voldemort, of course. They insist it was one of the Death Eaters-at-Large that never got captured.”

“Minimal fear to the public, minimal risk,” Harry murmured. “Morons, the lot of them.”

“I do not disagree, Harry,” Dumbledore said with a smile. “But there will be time over summer to begin organizing our own resistance to Tom, so that we may deal with his threat as quickly as possible, or at least go down trying.”

Harry nodded. “Sir, I’ve never mentioned how much I appreciate your honesty and candidness. I know you... could have very easily insisted on keeping me as ignorant as possible for my own safety.”

“I learned long ago, Harry,” Dumbledore said with a sigh. “That often times, one meets their destiny on the road to avoid it. If I had done that, it would have been a monumental misjudgement on my part. But I knew I could not spare you from the truth, given the tremendous power you possess.”

“I just want to be Harry,” Harry said with a sigh. “That’s all I want.”

“As much as we both wish it were the case, you haven’t been ‘Just Harry’ since that fateful Halloween. But with your friends and loved ones by your side, you’ll overcome all sorts of problems,” Dumbledore said. He stood up and made to leave the room. “I’ll send Miss Granger along, Harry. Do get some rest, you’ll need your strength in the time to come.”

And with that, Harry was alone again.


	8. The Queen of Snakes

To put in the mildest possible terms, Lord Voldemort was quite cross.

Despite the sheer numerological impossibility of it, he had failed in _all_ but one of his objectives that he’d set out to do to coincide with his resurrection.

He had failed to incapacitate or otherwise dispose of Harry Potter as any sort of threat, he had failed to kill Albus Dumbledore, had failed to do any lasting damage to much of anything other than the reputation of Gilderoy Lockhart for that matter–

To make matters worse, Severus Snape had betrayed him outright in favour of that daft old man, taking one of his most trusted and loyal Death Eaters out permanently in the process.

He wouldn’t _mourn_ Bartemius much, but he was such a loyal lieutenant, far more competent than some of the others who had the fortune to survive his long stay in the space between life and death– many of those loyal to him had succumbed to madness or were no more loyal to him than they were to their own coin purses. It would take some time for him to rebuild the fear his ranks had in him, to show that he wasn’t going anywhere, and that trying to outmatch him in a game of wits would be the last mistake anybody would ever make.

But all that wasn’t even factoring in _other events_ that had transpired.

He had somehow lost the Elder Wand– Pettigrew had assured him so many times that the loyalty of the Elder Wand was not in question, and that the boy had been too young, too weak, to win allegiance from it that blasted Halloween night.

Pettigrew had been so very wrong, and the brat had managed to rip it from his grasp with an act of wandless magic. It infuriated Voldemort to no end to know he had lost one of the keys to his nearly unlimited power, being forced to do business with wands that merely did not have the same envigorating energy of the Elder Wand.

Making matters _even worse_ was the fact that clearly, to him, Bellatrix and Pettigrew did not perform the resurrection ritual correctly.

Since he’d fled Hogwarts in a hurry to avoid a fight that would have inevitably led to his brand-new body being destroyed in a halcyon of spellfire, he had begun to feel a distinct, very painful burning sensation underneath his skin, leaving him constantly feeling like he’d been set on fire.

He had tortured some of his followers in retribution for the litany of failures stemming from that night, and had ordered for soothing potions to be ready at all times.

They hadn’t objected, and had done as he’d bid. But he still didn’t like it much.

Being forced to take painkiller and soothing potions to mitigate the worst of the pain would impact him negatively over the long-term–it bothered him deeply to form such a deep reliance on it.

More so, it weakened his position of strength among his followers.

He couldn’t make sense of where it all went wrong– from his recollection, and from the information he’d tortured from Bellatrix, the ceremony had gone according to plan. Could Pettigrew have sabotaged it in a final act of loyalty to his dead friends?

Voldemort had to admit– he had been arrogant, near-sighted and foolish to assume killing Harry Potter would be a simple process. No. He would not make such mistakes again.

Harry Potter would pay– slowly and surely, and every moment of the boy’s suffering would be a sweet melody to Voldemort’s ears. And he had a very long time to be patient.

…

Harry Potter felt decidedly _out of sorts_, if she had to put a specific feeling to it. Since she’d escaped from the tool shed and stormed her way to Hogwarts, she’d been rapidly alternating with feeling this terrible heat beneath her skin and breaking out into terrible fits of vertigo.

She felt like she’d sweat at least a stone since she’d woken up, and she’d had to conjure up multiple glasses of water to keep herself from experiencing the _awful_ taste of cotton mouth.

Each time she did, the Elder Wand seemed to _hum_ in pleasure toward her. A few thoughts entered her mind– could wands gain sentience? Were they sentient by default? Mr. Ollivander had always seemed to imply that wands were to some degree intelligent, being able to decide whom was worthy to carry them around. She thought it had more to do with arithmetic harmonics, or something like that. It almost felt like this one certainly had some sentience, given how much it responded to her every action.

The door to her private medical room opened, and Harry put aside her curiosity and worries at the sight of Hermione.

“Harry!” She exclaimed, quickly rushing past Madame Pomfrey and arriving at Harry’s bedside. “I was so worried about you. Don’t you ever scare me like that again! You’ve ended up in here too many times this year!”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said quietly. “It’s not like I plan these things, Hermione,”

“I know, I… I don’t mean to snap at you,” Hermione said, sitting on the edge of Harry’s bed as Madame Pomfrey went about taking diagnostics on Harry. “Things have been tense around here since your little show in the Great Hall.”

“Professor Dumbledore’s told me a bit about what’s happened. The Ministry has effectively declared me a heretic and is looking to burn at the stake,” Harry said, looking quite annoyed.

“That’s not even the half of it, Harry,” Hermione said. “The school is going absolutely insane.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, looking concerned.

“After the Ministry published that piece about you in the Daily Prophet, the Hufflepuffs have gotten _so insufferable_, crowing all and all about how they were right about you being a cheater. Cedric got put in hospital after Zacharias Smith hexed him– Cho got jumped by Terry Huxley and two other Hufflepuff upper years but managed to hold them off until Professor Sprout and Snape intervened. I’ve had Cho, Draco, and Ron nearly attached to my hip since you’ve been unconscious.”

“So basically, Hufflepuff has decided to attack all the people I’m friends with? Is that it?”

“And those that are close to them, in fact,” Hermione said, shaking her head. “It’s taken painful lengths to keep the Slytherins from straight out massacring the Hufflepuffs– we’ve sort of gone into lockdown, as have the Gryffindors.”

“And the Ravenclaws?”

“I’m not sure,” Hermione said, looking pensive. “For the house who had the proper Hogwarts champion, they’re certainly ambivalent, I’ve heard smatterings of support for you, as well as some nasty things.”

“Why on earth are the Hufflepuffs so mad at me?” Harry asked, confused. “You’d think I’d killed one of them, or something.”

“I think it has something to do with their sense of loyalty,” Hermione said, pursing her lips. “A lot of them probably still think you either paid someone or intentionally entered yourself into the contest, and because you didn’t lay down and basically throw the competition to Cho, you’re being disloyal to Hogwarts.”

“Disloyal to… oh please,” Harry said, rolling her eyes. “Everything I’ve done the last four years has been for Hogwarts.”

“I know, Harry, but they don’t see it that way,” Hermione said, looking apologetic.

“Whatever,” Harry muttered under her breath. “I’m used to this sort of thing.”

She drew her wand out and showed it to Hermione, whose eyes widened at the sight of it.

“Is this the Elder Wand?” Hermione said, her voice low. “Like the one in that story?”

“As far as I can tell, yeah,” Harry said. “I don’t think there’s anything inherently superior about it over any other wand– it’s just very old. I might actually do some research into wandmaking to see if there’s something about this particular configuration that makes it more powerful than any other wand type.”

“I’ve read that wands made from Elder tree are difficult to produce and master, but are very powerful when you secure allegiance.”

“It… definitely does feel far more powerful than the Rowan one,” Harry said in a low murmur. “This wand doesn’t have any resistance to it, it’s very fluid and straightforward. I quite like it.”

“It was the wand you were always meant to carry, Harry,” Hermione said with a smile.

…

Once the intense sweating and the thirst died down, and her body had gone back to sorts, Harry was finally to be discharged from hospital. Once she’d changed into a clean outfit and robes, she’d emerged from the bathroom to see Professor Snape standing, waiting for her.

“Potter,” Snape said. “I will be escorting you back to the Slytherin dungeons.”

“Of course, Professor, I think I’ve got everything I need,” Harry said, looking around to make sure she’d left nothing behind. Tucking her wand inside her robes, she quickly followed behind the Potions professor as they left the hospital wing.

“I presume the Headmaster and Miss Granger have informed you just how precarious the situation here has become since your duel with the Dark Lord,” Snape said quietly. “The Headmaster asked me to escort you to your dorm as so to avoid any unpleasant situations– he also asked me to tell you to exercise great caution and weariness in the corridors. I hope that this nonsense settles itself once the term is over, but I have grave doubts.”

“So do I, I’m not nearly that lucky,” Harry joked. “Professor, are you worried now that… Voldemort is back?”

Snape recoiled slightly before straightening himself out. “Of course, I’m worried, Harry. But there comes a time in everyone’s life where they must do something difficult. This is my time, and I will accept the consequences of it.”

“But what if he tries to kill you?” Harry asked.

The silence she received did not make her feel any better.

Harry followed dutifully back to the Slytherin dungeons, and as they reached the entryway to the common room, Snape stopped her.

“Harry,” Snape said quietly. “Are you going to be alright?”

“I’ll be fine, sir,” Harry said, looking uncertain. “Him being back is… difficult to deal with, that much is true. But I have never been one to shirk away from an opportunity to do the right thing. Ambition in service of justice, and all that sort of thing. Let people feel their anger over having the safety ripped away. We’ll turn that into productive anger someday.”

Snape nodded, and turned on heel. “Take care of yourself, child.” He stalked down the corridor, and Harry turned to face the door to the Slytherin dungeons. Giving the password, she stepped through the entryway into the common room. As soon as she walked through the door, nearly everyone’s eyes were on her– she realized that the room was full of people with ashen, pallid faces. She frowned. These were her people, her Slytherins.

And it hit her.

There was more to being the Heiress of Slytherin than just a fancy title. There was… a _duty_ to come with it.

The faces of all her fellow students made her heart hurt. Nobody in this room remembered the first war, the one that had left so many children orphaned–had left _her_ orphaned.

The seventh years may have remembered _some_ of it, but even they had only faint recollections in their youth. She had filled a void of power and promises where their parents, the Ministry, and Lord Voldemort had once solely occupied. The fire in her stomach roiled higher, burning bright like a dwarf star, and resolute determination settled in the pit of it as she straightened up and began to walk through the crowd.

They parted a way for her to reach the centre of the room like a metaphorical Moses. Climbing onto one of the low tables, she stood in the dead centre of the room and observed all her fellow Slytherins before sighing and folding her hands in front of her.

“I would like to tell you that it isn’t true, and that all of us can pretend that there isn’t something terrible on the horizon,” Harry said. “I would like to tell you that none of your parents bent the knee and pledged their undying loyalty to him. I would like to tell you all sorts of things that are not true– but I cannot. I am a speaker of truths, and I will not lie to those I consider family.”

“I intend to fight him with every ounce of my life,” Harry said, such a resolution causing murmuring to erupt in the crowds of Slytherins. “We may not always agree on the minutiae of blood politics, my fellow snakes, but do you see a future in the darkness that awaits us under his tyranny? Slavery, forced prostitution, and the endless terror? These are not the things that Salazar believed in.”

She closed her eyes and recalled the journals of Salazar Slytherin she’d found in the Chamber of Secrets’ library. The imam had spent much of his life fashioning a code of ethics– one that was perhaps morally dubious in many ways, but morally resonant and strong in others. He had, through his life, been a man of contradictions.

“The Egyptian faqih who taught an entire den of snakes those guiding principles he thought right,” She continued. “That peace, no matter how well-intended, is but a myth fashioned in the quiet of conflict. Power struggles will carry on regardless of war or peace, and we must do our part to facilitate justice in those times. Passion is what drives us to grow and change, and by marrying ambition with justice, we can achieve a wellspring of passion– and that passion will allow us to find the strength within and without to overcome our obstacles and build power. And once we have power, we can strike swiftly, bringing an end to our enemies. And once we have victory, we can smash the chains and free ourselves from that which holds us down.”

She permitted those words to sink in.

“We cannot permit Tom Riddle Jr. to so terribly corrupt what it means to be a Slytherin. We must show the world, and ourselves, that there is more to this den of snakes than just treachery and darkness. I pledge to you I will do everything in my power to see Slytherin restored to its proper place in the eyes of our community. You may disagree with my methods, but instead of seeing the name Slytherin condemned for a thousand millennia for brutality, evil, darkness and tyranny, I will stand against the racist brutes, and instead stand for equal justice for all.”

“Do you think you can win?” Tracey Davis asked, looking up at Harry with narrowed eyes.

“I do,” Harry said firmly. “Anything is possible with determination, Tracey.”

“And she won’t stand alone, either,” Draco said, entering the empty ring around Harry and raising his wand, the tip emitting a soft light. “I will not be like my father,” He said harshly, eyes narrowing.

Hermione followed suit. “And I will not be made a serf. I am power, I am victory, I will break the chains that bind me.”

“I will fight for my freedom, and the freedom of all who come after me,” Pansy proclaimed.

“For Astoria, for all the little girls in Britain,” Daphne said, raising her own wand.

Slowly but surely, every Slytherin in the room, for reasons of their own perhaps, raised their wand in support, standing firmly together in the face of what was to come.

“Together,” Harry said, her voice heavy with emotion, feeling a lump in the back of her throat. “We will defeat him together.”

“Together!” Came surging forth, a roaring echo.

…

“Mister Potter,” An unfamiliar bespectacled man greeted Harry as she entered the Headmaster’s office on the Thursday just prior to the end of the term. “A pleasure to meet you.”

“My name is Earnest Brimley, Head of the Department of Examinations and Certifications. I understand that you were expected to take your OWL in Defence Against the Dark Arts this year?” The man asked, curiously.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mister Brimley,” Harry said, shaking the man’s hand. “Yes, sir, I am.”

Earnest nodded. “Good. It’s quite a simple process, really,” He said. “I have already arranged an appointment to sit your OWL at the Ministry for Magic in London on the Thirty-First of July. You will only require your wand, everything else will be provided for you in the testing room. The OWL for Defence Against the Dark Arts involves twelve written questions primarily on matters pertaining to knowledge you would have learned in the last five years here at Hogwarts– and then there will be a practical component you will be expected to have some mastery of as well. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said.

“Wonderful,” Earnest said, before drawing a slip of parchment from his briefcase and handing it to Harry. It was a simple notice of her appointment to attend her examinations in July.

She wasn’t very pleased at the idea of having to spend her birthday taking her DADA OWL, but she’d learned long ago to not expect people to give her much of a break when it came to basically anything.

…

The chill that had settled over Hogwarts hadn’t broken, and in fact, seemed to have gotten worse. The end-of-term feast was maudlin and lacking the usual light air it had in previous years. Ravenclaw had won the house cup for a change, which suited Harry just fine. Slytherin could benefit from some humility and managed expectations. She knew the sort of things that her snakes were capable of doing, and how often many of them… _expected_ an easy ride on the principles of the content of their blood quantum.

Though she wasn’t trying to be completely uncharitable. All the houses suffered from a fatal lack of humility and had some very serious near-sightedness when it came to embodying the stereotype regurgitated by the Sorting Hat.

Gryffindors could grow to be more than just daring, foolish prats with an ego bigger than one could possibly fathom. Bravery ran deeper than just living in the heat of the moment, bravery went together with ambition in a lot of ways.

Fred and George Weasley came to mind as good examples of it. They were brave in their defiance of school policies, but their inspiration for their defiance came from their lofty ambition to be forever cemented in history as the biggest prank artists at Hogwarts, and from the investment she’d made, their ambition ran even deeper than that, aspiring to build a career around their handiwork.

Neville Longbottom was another good example of how the stereotypes weren’t always accurate. Her ex-boyfriend was a gentle giant, taking great care in all he did. He was brave for persisting despite his own self-doubts, while marrying that sort of great care and self-bravery with resolute duty and loyalty to his friends and family. It was a respectable thing, and something Harry had always admired in the lad.

Ron Weasley, too. Oh, he was rough around the edges and was a quintessential prat of a Gryffindor, but there was more to him than just a boy who stuffed his face and complained about studying. The boy was a veritable genius in chess, domineering _everyone_ who dared challenge him to a game of wits. Just underneath that exterior of someone who barely tried, was a mind that would have done quite well in Ravenclaw, calculating, strategizing, and thinking of the best way to go from A to B in order to set up C and D.

On the note of defying expectations, however…

Slytherin House had been changing since she’d arrived at Hogwarts.

The filthy muck of blood purity had been, if not utterly stamped out with the force of God, then had at least been scoured back into the shadows where it belonged. Nobody could see fit to dispute the universality of power and magic when the Heiress of Slytherin was a half-blood, and the top-scoring student in the class was a first-generation wix.

Bringing well-regarded pureblood scions into the fold had done well to accelerate the cause, as had her natural profile as a polarising presence.

She still hated the attentions brought upon her due to the circumstances that led to her being orphaned, but she accepted that it was part of her life, and it was better to control it than to let it grow untethered and wild. Still, it didn’t mean she had to _like it very much._

“When the term starts up again,” Draco said conspiratorially, looking at Harry intently. “We should really codify our plans. If we’re going to pledge ourselves to you rather than… _him_, then we should have a plan.”

“I agree,” Hermione injected primly. “It would be terribly unwise to not capitalise on such an opportunity.”

“Yes, I know,” Harry said quietly. “But we have to be careful. The last thing I need is to be accused of trying to become the next Dark Lord– as it is, forming a group of Slytherins into a gang is dangerously close to the proto-Death Eaters.”

“Nobody said you had to have a gang of enforcers, Harry,” Draco said. “But, perhaps the Knights of Slytherin can serve as an alliance of all sorts of things. A mutual benefit society.”

“If that’s the case, then I want Gryffindors involved as well,” Harry murmured. “Perhaps we could talk to Ron and Neville about organizing their own counterpart to our little mutual benefit society.”

“Yeah, that might work,” Draco said, before turning in his seat and tapping his boyfriend on the back. “Hey, lover boy.”

Ron turned and looked at his boyfriend as Draco leaned in to whisper. Ron’s eyes took on that calculating look he got when he was playing wixen chess, and a grin crossed his face.

“Consider it done, love,” Ron said with a grin. “Might take some time, though.”

“Do what you need to do, dear,” Draco said, gently running his nails down Ron’s jawline. “I’m a patient person.”

Ron gave him a half-lidded look before turning back to the Gryffindor table and nudging Neville, whispering to him the same thing Draco had just passed on. Neville’s face took on a conspiratorial look as well, and he raised an eyebrow in interest.

Gryffindor and Slytherin, unified in the pursuit of justice. What a sight.

Harry idly wondered what Godric and Salazar would think of it– not that she particularly cared what they would think. The time for their antiquated feud was nigh past, and it was time for her to get to work and carry on with the tradition her father had set so long ago– to cause as much mayhem as she could.

…

Harry, Hermione and Draco sat quietly in Harry’s mother’s office. They had been most displeased to learn they would be prevented from boarding the Hogwarts Express to return home, primarily because they were such high-value targets with tensions so high across the school. Their absence would do well to keep the peace, and any issues, the prefects and/or members of the Knights of Slytherin (as they’d taken to calling themselves) could handle.

Draco hadn’t been pleased, but had nearly forcibly extracted a promise from his boyfriend that he’d either come visit them in Scotland, or arrange for _Draco_ to visit him down in Devon sometime over the summer holiday, because he most certainly wanted to see more of him before the term started.

Eventually, the Floo roared to life and Minerva stepped through the flames, dusting herself off as she crossed over to her desk.

“The Express has been seen off safely,” She said. “From what I’ve been told, Sirius and Rolanda have been quite busy at work improving upon the house.”

“Improving the house how, Mum?” Harry asked.

“Since we’ve had so many more people staying over lately, they talked me into some renovations to that effect,” Minerva said with a chuckle.

“Honestly, it sort of reminds me of when I was a wee lass, we used to have so many family members staying over in my father’s house, it was always humming with activity.”

She sighed wistfully. “For so long, it’s just been the three of us. Having more people around is… how it should be, really,” Minerva said, smiling.

A quick Floo trip later, and Harry managed to glide out of the fireplace into the familiar sitting room of her house.

Though, it was certainly a bit different. Magical remodelling was always a fascinating concept to her because it was so very trivial sometimes to make grand changes to houses, provided you had the funds to afford it, and that the physical dimensions on the outside didn’t always have to make exact sense with how it looked on the inside.

The living space was much larger now, the familiar old couch and loveseat now joined by other seating arrangements. Harry gave a low whistle as she looked around.

“Sirius and Lala did a fantastic job,” Harry murmured.

“Oh yes, they certainly did,” Minerva said with a smile.

A quick tour of the improvements led Harry to notice that the upstairs section of the house was larger as well, with more rooms than there had been before.

“Our quarters haven’t been changed, other than some small space expansion to fit with the new properties of the house,” Minerva said. “But we’ve added space for Draco, Sirius and Narcissa so they each have their own living space. There’s also a room for Miss Granger, should she desire separate accommodations when she is visiting, but something tells me I would have to place a hex on you both to keep you away from each other.”

Harry only grinned at her mother, and Hermione blushed furiously.

“That wasn’t necessary at all, ma’am, wow,” Hermione said. “I… thank you,”

Minerva smiled. “Consider it a home away from home. Once we’ve had lunch, I’ll escort you back home. I’ve already informed your parents that they will not have to wait for you at King’s Cross.”

When they arrived at the bottom of the stairs, the back door opened, and a much dirtier and toned Sirius Black stood in the doorway.

“Ah, pup, you’re back!” He said, grinning. “Like what I’ve done with the place?”

“It’s fantastic, Sirius, wow,” Harry said. “You and Lala did _all of this_?”

“With some help from the goblins, yeah. We had to split our attentions between here and Number Twelve, getting in shape. I loaned it to Dumbledore for… er,” He trailed off, looking uncertain.

“I’m aware of what you loaned it to him for,” Harry said idly, before grinning. “Where’s Lala at?”

“Watering the garden, actually,” Sirius said, jerking his thumb at the backdoor. “She’s been going spare with worry over all sorts of things, I’ve actually had to keep her preoccupied with things, so she doesn’t start going all funny on me.”

Minerva placed a hand on Sirius’ shoulder and bustled past him to go see her wife. Sirius then turned to face the three teens.

“Why don’t you lot go up to Harry’s room for a bit? I’ll let you know when lunch is ready,” He said, grinning and tousling Harry’s hair, much to the young girl’s displeasure.

The three teens adjourned upstairs, and Harry crash-landed on her bed, letting out a pleased noise at being home at last. Crookshanks wasted no time in climbing up and headbutting his mistress affectionately. She flipped over and the cat planted itself firmly on her belly, making her laugh a bit in amusement. She reached and gently stroked between his ears, causing the half-Kneazle to start purring loudly.

“At least we’re done with all that mess for the summer, right?” Draco said, smiling unevenly. “It’s at least two months where we’ve not got to worry about some plot, some conspiracy, nothing like that.”

“I wish it were that easy, I doubt it, though,” Harry said, closing her eyes. “Though, I do want to at least get some rest before things get worse. Sleep… sounds good actually…”

…

Draco and Hermione boggled at how quickly Harry had fallen asleep. Her breathing was even and uniform, but she had clearly already wandered off into the realm of dreams. Hermione smiled some and gently pushed Draco towards the door, the two making their way back into the corridor.

“We’ll wake her at lunch,” Hermione said, before returning downstairs, where Narcissa, Minerva and Sirius were seated, smiling and having an involved conversation.

“Mother!” Draco greeted, wrapping his mother in a hug.

“Draco,” Narcissa said, clutching her son tightly. “Minerva was just telling Sirius and I about what happened during the Third Task. Is it… is it true?”

“I saw it myself, Mother,” Draco said stoically, sitting in one of the chairs and tenting his fingers. “The victory feast was in full swing, and then there was this… surge of power. Like nothing I’ve ever felt before, and then Harry’s voice filled the room, _angry_. And then there she was, standing in the doorway, ready to commit murder. She and the Dark Lord duelled, and she somehow managed to not only get his wand but drove him off in the process.”

Narcissa grimaced. “Did she mention anything about your father at the Dark Lord’s resurrection?” She asked carefully.

“No,” Draco said. “After she gave this… powerful speech in the common room, she had private conversations with a few of the kids whose parents she knew were there when she was held hostage. But she told me she didn’t see Father.”

“Good. Good,” Narcissa said, rubbing her arms nervously. She had good reason to be terrified of her ex-husband, the man could only _charitably_ be described as a murderous raving lunatic.

“But the power that rolled off Harry that night was utterly terrifying,” Draco said quietly, eyes distant. “She threw two entire tables at the Dark Lord and Professor Lockhart with barely a flick of her wand. I don’t know exactly… how she was able to do that, but she acted like it was nothing at all.”

Hermione folded her arms. “She’s the Heiress of Slytherin, Master of Death, and all these other things. I worry about her sometimes, like she’s only a few inches from snapping completely.”

“It’s a lot to put on a 14-year-old girl’s shoulders, that much is true,” Narcissa said. “But there’s not much we can do to keep her from all these things that have come together on her. Not unless we want to start meddling with time traveling which is a terrible crime against a lot of people. Who is to say that if we prevented all the events before now from coming to pass…” She left things unsaid.

Draco grimaced at the thought, and Hermione looked a bit nauseous about it.

“She’ll do just fine,” Sirius said, frowning. “Even if she does go a bit daft with all this responsibility and power, her other half here will probably keep her in line.”

Hermione blushed. “She doesn’t listen to me that much,”

“Eh, I’m with Cousin Sirius on this one,” Draco said. “If you asked Harry to do anything, she’d do it without hesitation. You’re just accustomed to being passive and letting Harry have her breathing space.”

“Should I be _less_ passive, then?” Hermione retorted, looking displeased. “I thought everyone considered me a bossy know-it-all. I’ve been trying to be a bit less that in recent years, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Of course, we’ve noticed, Hermione, Merlin, I’m not trying to imply you’re doing something wrong or anything. Harry doesn’t need another Mum anyway, she’s full up on parental oversight– two actual Mothers, one Aunt who treats her like a daughter, and then her godfather.”

Hermione muttered under her breath and plopped on one of the free loveseats, looking quite cross.


	9. Something's Not Quite Right

Harry awoke feeling even more fatigued and drained than when she’d fallen asleep. Groaning, she slowly rose from her prone position, sitting up on the edge of her bed, rubbing her eyes irritably.

Sleep was always something she never felt like she got enough of, between the restless hours staring at ceilings, to the frequent nightmares she got of a big man with a moustache chasing her down with a cast-iron skillet or the cold laugh and the flash of green light she associated with the death of her birth parents– Sleep held no peace for her, which was partially the reason why she usually spent so many nights at Hogwarts in the quiet unused classrooms thinking or meditating.

She had considered asking after Dreamless Sleep potions but didn’t quite feel like going through the whole terrible process of being looked over by healers to ensure she had a medical need for it, that and she didn’t fancy relying on potions to keep herself sane.

But… since the Triwiz Tournament and _even more so_ since her duel with Voldemort in the Great Hall, the dreams had been getting progressively worse.

The nightmares now included Hermione screaming her name in agony as the life was squeezed out of her by something _terrible_, as well as awful dreams of her and Draco duelling each other to the death on the parapet of one of the Hogwarts towers, darkness devouring her like a hungry predator.

Those feelings lingered on the edge of her memory– terrible and ugly feelings.

She padded off to the bathroom to wipe her face, grimacing at the sight in the mirror. Her hair was a tremendous mess, and her eyes looked red-rimmed and almost blood-shot. The onset of puberty was lingering at her doorstep, as she could see the early stages of a few faint hairs on her chin and upper lip. She hated it _so badly._

Scrubbing her face with soap and water, she dried off and went back to her bedroom. Hermione was already seated on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. Harry entering the room made her perk up, but it trailed off at the same time as Harry felt a tingle pass up her spine.

Hermione’s expression was now settled on shock and confusion, and Harry stopped, taken back at the confusion on her face.

“Hermione? What’s wrong?” Harry asked, before grasping her throat. Wait, that wasn’t her voice. The accent and inflection were the same, but… the actual voice itself was softer. She glanced down and realized her body had changed.

“What the blistering hell,” Harry said. When she threw her head back up, a large mass of brown hair splayed everywhere and fell into her vision, and she spluttered in shock. She’d know this hair anywhere; it was her favourite hair in the world.

“How the bloody hell did I become your twin?” Harry asked, pivoting on her foot to turn towards Hermione, who had been walking in a tight circle around Harry. “This shouldn’t be possible.”

“Not just my twin, Harry… you’re a carbon copy,” Hermione murmured. “Polyjuice, perhaps?”

“Someone would’ve had to sneak into my bedroom and dose me while I was napping,” Harry said, folding her arms and frowning. “Besides, I wouldn’t _violate_ your privacy like that. If I was that curious about your body, I’d just ask you for a shag.”

“No, I know you wouldn’t be a creep about it. Couldn’t be Tiresian Tonic, could it?” Hermione asked.

Harry shook her head. “No, not really. That only makes you look like any alternative version of yourself. So, if I was to take one of those, it could make me look like any version of Harry Potter that could have existed as the offspring of James and Lily Potter, male or female… it wouldn’t make me look like you. Besides, I haven’t got any doses of that either, not since the Yule Ball.”

The door to the bedroom opened, and Draco walked in. “Hey, you lot, lunch is rea-”

He stopped in shock at the sight of two Hermione Grangers– one looking concerned, the other looking terrified.

The terrified one looked at Draco, and quickly morphed into a terrified version of himself. The real Hermione jumped in shock. “Harry, you changed again!”

“I did?” Harry said, turning to Hermione, and shifting back into her.

“Well, you did. When you… looked at Draco, you turned into him. When you looked at me, you turned into me.”

She looked around the room and quickly grabbed the green and silver tie that belonged to Harry’s school uniform. She quickly placed the tie over Harry’s eyes, much to the young girl’s protest.

“Stop fidgeting, Harry. I want to do an experiment, I promise, nothing bad will happen.”

Harry huffed and went silent, trying to look as graceful as possible while inhabiting a copy of her girlfriend’s body.

After Hermione finished tying the tie behind her head, she nodded. “Can you see anything, Harry?”

“No, of course not,” Harry muttered.

“Good, good. Now, Draco? Grab her other arm.”

Harry felt herself being lifted off her desk chair and could tell they were walking downstairs. She couldn’t see anything, just infer what was going on by the sound of the creaking staircase.

“There you three a- what the _hell_?” came Minerva’s voice, and Harry couldn’t help but crack a wry smile. Her mother didn’t swear often around children, but it was always amusing to hear something slip out from time to time.

“There’s something that’s going on with Harry,” Hermione said quickly. “She keeps changing into people when she sees them.”

“What do you mean?” Minerva said, gently placing her hand on Harry’s waist. Harry felt herself being let go by Hermione and Draco and glided with her mother’s help to one of the loveseats in the sitting room. The leather was quite comfortable, a good change from the cloth loveseat that had been there before.

“She came out of the bathroom and as soon as she and I made eye contact, she changed into my clone, as you can see,” Hermione said, her voice firm. “When Draco entered the room soon after, she turned into him briefly, before looking at me and turning back to into me.”

There was some shuffling. Hermione spoke again.

“I thought she might’ve been potioned somehow, but the more I thought about it, the less likely it seemed, to be honest.”

“Well,” Minerva said. “Perhaps we should call Albus and Severus, have them look at her. Let me see if there are any transfigurations on her.”

“Call them for what?” Sirius’ voice came into the room. “Wait, why are there two Hermiones?”

“One of them is your goddaughter,” Minerva said wryly. “Something is making Harry turn into people she makes eye contact with.”

“Harry,” Minerva said quietly. “I’m going to take your blindfold off. Keep your eyes closed.”

Harry complied, and felt the blindfold disappear. She kept her eyes shut completely. She could feel the latent magic from her mother performing diagnostic spells at a harried cadence, before she nodded. “Open your eyes.”

Harry opened her eyes and came face to face with her mother. She felt another trickling up her back, and the world suddenly got further away as she gained some height.

Minerva looked shocked, but shook her head, glancing down at her wand. “I can’t seem to tell anything. If it’s a transfiguration, it can’t be broken by spellcasting.” The real Minerva stood up and crossed towards the fireplace, intent on making a Floo call.

Harry turned to look at Hermione, a slightly more comfortable form taking hold as she slipped back into being Hermione’s body double. If she had to be stuck as one person that wasn’t her, she’d rather be Hermione’s carbon clone than _her mother’s_.

Sighing, she placed the blindfold back on herself and waited patiently.

After a couple minutes, Minerva spoke.

“Okay, Albus and Severus will be here momentarily– has anybody seen anything like this before?” Minerva asked.

“I… the only thing I can think of,” Sirius said quietly. “Is that it reminds me a bit of Dora when she was a kid. She didn’t turn into exact copies of people, but she’d often change little things about her to match people. Their hair, eye colour, stuff like that.”

“Impossible,” Harry said, eyebrow shooting up into her new hairline. “I can’t be a Metamorphmagus. Tonks told me that those who’re born like that have their powers manifest when they’re babies! I’ve never had anything like this happen before in my life!”

“The magic behind being a Metamorphmagus is more theoretical than actually well-known and documented, Harry,” Sirius said. “We might want to call her as well, just in case I’m not too far off the mark.”

Minerva sighed. “We’ll let Albus and Severus observe Harry first, then we’ll call Miss Tonks if we need another opinion on the matter.” She said, her voice laden with tension.

A few more minutes passed before she heard the fireplace roar to life.

“We came as soon as we could, Minerva,” Albus said sagely. “I’m going to guess that Harry is the one seated, with a blindfold on?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” Harry muttered. “At the centre of a bunch of inane bullshit again.”

“Language, Harry,” Minerva chided.

“Sorry, mum,” Harry murmured.

Harry felt a sudden surge of magical activity around her again, as even _more_ diagnostic spells were dropped on her.

“Do you know of any potions that have such a time delay, Severus?” Albus asked as he continued to act.

“The fact she is able to turn into more than one person at a time,” Severus began, before trailing off. “I don’t believe we’re working with potion or transfiguration here; I think there is something… more we are not quite getting.”

“Sirius suggested she might be a Metamorphmagus.” Minerva said.

“It’s unusual for their powers to manifest so late in life, but then again… Harry was only fifteen months old when Voldemort died the first time,” Albus said. “It has been nearly seventy years since I’ve last thoroughly conducted investigations into how Metamorphmagus transformations work. Perhaps we should talk to Miss Tonks about it?”

“That’s what I’ve been saying!” Sirius said, folding his arms. “If anybody’s going to know about that stuff, she will… or at least, she’ll know what resources we can go look for. Let me see if I can bother Andromeda enough to get a hold of her for us.”

“I hate this so much,” Harry said to nobody.

Something placed itself firmly on her lap. “It’ll be okay, Harry,” Hermione said, wrapping her arms around her neck. “We will figure out how this works. You know how I am; I won’t rest until we figure out exactly how this works.”

“I know, love.” Harry said wryly. “I wonder, does it look as weird as I think it does, Hermione cuddling with herself?”

“Oh, it’s delightfully demented looking,” Draco said with a snicker. “In fact, Professor, do you have a camera around here?”

“I’m going to kick your arse, Draco,” Harry said, grinning as Hermione kept her planted to the chair. “And I’m going to _get you_, Hermione Granger.”

“Hmm, too bad I know exactly all your weakness right now.”

“Do you?”

“Oh yes, like… you’re ticklish here,” Hermione said, tickling Harry just below her ribs. Harry began to squirm, giggling loudly.

“Stop it! Stop it this instant!” Harry pleaded through giggles, before Hermione stopped and got up off Harry’s lap, gently nudging her with her foot.

“Don’t be so glum about it,” Hermione instructed. “If anything, you should be rather pleased about it, really.”

“I don’t fancy not being able to control my appearance, darling,” Harry said. “It’s not that I hate your body, it’s just _not mine_.”

“I know, I’m just trying to look for silver linings, honestly,” Hermione said in return.

Harry sighed, and leaned back in the chair. She waited patiently before she heard people coming through the Floo again. This time, the person in question stumbled and she heard someone crashing to the floor with a yelp.

“I’m alright, I’m alright,” Nymphadora Tonks said. “So, where’s Harry at?”

“Over here, Tonks,” Harry said. “Wotcher, by the way.”

“Wotcher,” Tonks replied. “Sirius tells me you’re turning into people?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” Harry said. “Took a nap when I got back from Hogwarts, slept for a bit, woke up, washed my face, and then went back to my room to see Hermione there, and now I _am_ her.”

Harry suddenly felt the blindfold disappear again and opened her eyes to see Tonks in front of her. The world shifted again, and Tonks blinked in surprise, her hair shifting from pink to orange. Her eyes widened.

“Well, that’s fascinating. Okay, fantastic!” Tonks said, nodding. “I’m _pretty sure_ you’re a Metamorphmagus, Harry.”

“You told me that Metamorphmagi get their powers when they’re toddlers?” Harry asked, confused.

“Yes, but I told you we don’t know the specifics very well,” Tonks said. “You were, what, a year and a half old when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named darkened your doorstep, yeah? I wouldn’t doubt that whatever that pillock did kept your powers from manifesting.”

“So how do I stop turning into people?” Harry asked, wrinkling her copy of Tonks’ nose in annoyance.

“You need to learn to control it,” Tonks said with a shrug. “Here, here, let’s try a quick exercise.”

…

It had been anything but a short exercise.

Their initial attempts to go through the exercise had been periodically punctuated by the happenings of the household– first, they’d had lunch, a hot meal consisting of a hearty chicken stew with carrots and potatoes.

Subsequently, Harry had gotten distracted with the departure of Minerva and Hermione to take her back home to her parents, and the subsequent departure of Narcissa, Sirius and Draco to conduct some business in London pertaining to the impact of her marriage nullification and the Black family’s affairs.

Once Rolanda had stepped out to the garden again, Harry had finally gotten around to getting into the right state to exercise some control over her nascent powers.

The now-familiar trickle up her spine thrust her back into her normal form, which she greeted in the mirror with an abnormal amount of happiness.

“If you keep practicing, you’ll eventually be able to do a lot of stuff to hide yourself in plain sight and the like,” Tonks said, slipping into a slightly different version of Harry. “Even fashion your own look, to boot.”

“Do you do that sort of thing?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Not to extremes, I get a bit wild with my hair and eye colour, but I tend to keep my body as is,” Tonks said, turning back into herself. “I’ve tried running around as a bloke before… er, dysphoria and dysmorphia are problems I don’t fancy. We can change a lot about ourselves, but your brain will have some dissociative issues if you change too much too quickly without you know, getting used to it. It’s why you might’ve had a worse time turning into your mum or me, rather than Hermione.”

“Why is that?” Harry asked, confused as to how that correlated.

“Hermione and you are the same height, relatively similar builds, the only difference is that she’s got breasts and you haven’t yet,” Tonks said with a shrug. “Your brain was okay with the slight differences there.”

“If you’ve got to impersonate someone, how do you deal with that?” Harry asked, blinking in surprise.

“_Short term_… that sort of thing doesn’t bother you really,” Tonks said. “It’s only when it’s long-term, or you consciously don’t know how to turn yourself back that the dissociation sets in and then you’re in for a world of hurt and frustration.”

“Sounds like an annoyance,” Harry muttered, running a hand through her hair. She frowned, closed her eyes and focused on something. She wanted to see if she could change _small parts_ of her appearance. Opening her eyes again, her eyes had changed from their usual emerald green, to a ruby red. They still had a subtle glow to them she could never understand, but it was fascinating to look at anyway. She glanced back at Tonks who nodded appreciatively.

“You should keep trying to change little bits of yourself every day, to practice. By the time you get back to Hogwarts, you should be adept at it, I’d wager,” Tonks said with a smile.

“What happens if we take a Tiresian Tonic dose, Tonks?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. “Seems like we wouldn’t need to anymore, if we can just… change sexes at will,”

“Well, _theoretically_ it would still work, it would simply change your default form. In my experience, Metamorph magic is always sort of elastic. No matter how much you change, your body wants to snap back to default at some point. Maybe it’ll happen while you’re sleeping or the like, but it’ll always snap back.”

“I suppose that’s worth some experimentation then,” Harry said, tucking her hands in her pockets. “I suppose in the meantime, small changes.”

“Yes, that’s always wisest. It’s incredibly difficult to do something that’ll harm you, but don’t try to do more than you think you can handle at once,” Tonks instructed, looking at her firmly. “Like, things like changing your cup size, eye colour, hair colour, length, whatever– that sort of thing isn’t that difficult. Changing your height, bone structure, and all those things… that gets into difficult territory because of the sheer logistics involved with it.”

“Had to make a crack about cup size?” Harry asked, rolling her eyes.

“You’d be surprised how often that question gets asked,” Tonks said conspiratorially. “I used to get asked all the time by girlfriends or boyfriends about if I could change my bust size. Usually anybody who asked got a face full of hexes and found themselves single again.”

“I mean, I _might_ play around with that, but whose bloody business is it anyway? My body isn’t anybody’s concern but my own, really.” Harry said firmly, crossing her arms.

“Precisely!” Tonks said, grinning. “It’s a good thing you’ve already found someone like Hermione– honestly, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been asked to turn into a movie star or something because that’s what someone was into.”

Harry shook her head. “Why are people so gross about that kind of thing?”

“Because we’re humans, driven by _snogging_ and _shagging_, little Harry,” Tonks said, grinning. “Without either, we get a bit… off, really. Imagine a Professor McGonagall who was a lonely old spinster. She’d have even more of a rod up her arse than she does now– and she gets laid regularly!”

“Oh, ew, that isn’t what I needed to think about,” Harry said, looking ill. “I don’t need to know my _mother’s sexual proclivities_-how do you even know that sort of thing!?”

“It was sort of an open secret among the Prefects at Hogwarts that there’s a non-zero chance when you open a broom closet that you might find Professor McGonagall and Professor Hooch in the act.”

“Gross,” Harry said, shaking her head. “I’m going to have to Obliviate myself now, fuck you.”

Tonks started laughing loudly. “Oh, come off it, Potter! It’s not like you’re the only person who has sex.”

“That’s true, I guess… quite a few couples at Hogwarts are shagging with frequency.”

“Not just that,” Tonks said conspiratorially. “Sirius tells me that he and Remus have rekindled their old romance from back in the day… and Narcissa is dating Bill Weasley.”

“Wait, Draco’s mum is dating _Ron’s brother_!?” Harry asked, gaping. “You’re such a gossip, Miss Tonks!”

“It’s hard not to gossip when our family is this demented,” Tonks said, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, apparently Narcissa and Bill have been dating on the side since the Quidditch World Cup. She’s pretty serious about it as well.”

“Well, she deserves some happiness,” Harry said with a nod. “If Bill Weasley does that for her, then who are we to object? Though it’s going to be insanely awkward for Ron when someday his father-in-law is also his brother.”

“When two wix get together, there’s a pretty good chance they’re related somewhere down the line. Particularly if they’re an offspring of the Black family,” Tonks said. “My mum was cast out of the family for marrying Dad, but she once explained to me that the Blacks have a lot of fingers in various family pies. Potters, Malfoys, Lestranges, Weasleys. Honestly, marrying and having babies with first gen wix or Muggles is basically the only way to get out of the genetic feedback loop, but the pureblood mania that reigns in most families keeps that from actually being a thing.”

“Ugh, pureblood shite,” Harry said, rolling her eyes. “It’s rather telling, isn’t it, when most of the famous wix in recent history aren’t pureblood, that their whole argument is utterly baseless. Albus Dumbledore’s mother was a first gen wix, which makes him a half-blood by their standards. Voldemort’s old man was a Muggle, making him a half-blood by literal definition– and then my mother was a first gen wix, making _me_ a half-blood. So there, you’ve got the Conqueror of Grindelwald, the Dark Lord, and the Girl-Who-Lived plus Heir of Slytherin plus Master of Death. All of us, not purebloods.”

Harry shrugged her shoulders. “More than that, though? Hermione is the smartest girl in our year, she thoroughly crushes all opposition in academics, and she’s a _first-gen_. Professor Snape’s a half-blood too!”

“Yeah, there’s not much of an argument for blood purity when your finest examples of it are Bellatrix Lestrange, Lucius Malfoy, and a bunch of stark raving mad lunatics. Given this a lot of thought, have you, Harry?”

“I’m the de-facto Queen of Slytherin, Tonks,” Harry said in a low voice. “Of course, I bloody have to– I have to keep them from slipping into the same fallacy that befell all their parents and cousins. They will choose to follow a half-blood girl to justice and a true peace– and I will show them that blood does not define a wix.”

“Merlin, I look forward to the day you’re Minister for Magic, then,” Tonks said, falling backwards onto Harry’s bed. “You could frenzy crowds with that kind of talk.”

“I have no interest in being the Minister,” Harry said simply. “I actually rather fancied teaching. Tutoring Hermione in Defence Against the Dark Arts was proper good fun. Hermione actually seems like she’s more interested in being Minister– it’d fit her well, probably.”

“Probably. I doubt you’ve got the patience for politics,” Tonks muttered. “Aiming for Dumbledore’s job, then?”

“Maybe someday, once Mum retires,” Harry said simply. “Then we can divest Hogwarts completely from reliance on the Ministry and build up an independent academia that doesn’t bend to the politics of the time. Headmaster Dumbledore’s done a fine job of that so far, but I’d want to keep it going by getting rid of Ministry-backed Governors.”

“I should be offended at how much you talk bad about the Ministry, but I can’t blame you– most of our department hasn’t been very fond of the Ministry proper for a couple years. It’s downright frosty in the offices these days.”

“Why?” Harry asked, raising her eyebrow.

“Apparently back when Sirius escaped from prison, he was being filed off to be executed under order of the Minister and his Undersecretary– nobody in the DMLE approved it. The Senior Aurors and Azkaban guards involved all got shipped off to Cathay for that, out of sight, out of mind.”

“Oh yeah, I remember Sirius saying something about that,” Harry said. “Makes sense.”

“It’s gotten worse since the trials for Pettigrew and Black, and now this mess with the Dark Lord and your little battle with him in Hogwarts. The bureaucratic side of the Ministry is running about like a chicken with no head trying to pretend nothing’s happening, while the DMLE is basically going into fortress mode and circling the wagons to fortify themselves against the fallout. Madame Bones and Head Auror Scrimgeour both believe you and your story, but… the Ministry itself…”

“I suppose that’s good,” Harry said idly. “It sounds like the DMLE is on the brink of mutiny.”

“Yeah, our faith in everything has been shaken a bit since Crouch Sr. got caught imperiousing his own son. Madame Bones has been hell-bent on discipline through the ranks– she’s even gotten Moody to come out of retirement to start bolstering the ranks with people who aren’t flunkies for the Minister. We’ve been taking on volunteer recruits from some other countries since it’s so difficult to get recruits from here.”

“Hogwarts not meeting standards?” Harry asked, and Tonks shrugged.

“I suppose– Snape’s really strict about OWL and NEWT levels, so we only get a few viable Auror candidates every year. Having some recruits from overseas will reduce the desperation for new blood.”

“And it’ll keep you lot from having to rely on patronage to keep functioning,” Harry said. It made a lot of sense– if the Aurors were dealing with manpower shortages, it gave the Ministry for Magic leverage to interfere with the DMLE, like staffing their offices with double agents who would report in reality to Minister Fudge or his undersecretary– that much was already evident given how somebody within the DMLE office, including some Senior Aurors, had orchestrated the execution of a handful of Death Eaters without any sort of writ of authorization from the DMLE chief.

But if Madame Bones and the DMLE were cracking down not just on nepotism, but other factors as well, it would go a long way to preventing infiltration from Voldemort’s followers to some degree. Harry could appreciate a sound plan when she saw one, and this was certainly sound.

She filed that off for later, it was a nice little nugget of information to keep in the back of her head if she needed it.

…

“_To achieve mastery of Defence Against the Dark Arts, one must understand that defending against Dark Arts is never an exact science, but one that requires constant vigilance, an open mind to new possibilities, and a mind for strategizing._”

Harry mulled the paragraph she was reading in her head. She had been studying plenty for her DADA OWL, but she was still wanting to get a leg-up for next term. It seemed that by this point, Defence pivoted more towards the theoretical, given the chapters’ worth of content written by Alastor Moody on the benefits of strategizing in the lead up to battle against a practitioner of Dark Arts, and then subsequently, what stratagem to implement in the heat of battle.

She liked it, the idea of mixing clever tactics in with the plain force of a well-crafted set of spells. She managed to convince Draco to duel her with Sirius’ supervision, to practice her craft.

Draco had done well enough with the repertoire of fourth year spells up his arsenal, but had been no match for Harry, who quickly disarmed him and held him at wandpoint, a shark grin on her face.

“Hey, Prongslet, why don’t _we_ duel?” Sirius then asked from the side. “Give you an idea on where you’ll be in a real wand-to-wand duel with an adult.”

“I guess that’ll work,” Harry said, dropping into a casual stance. Sirius nodded, and drew his wand as they stood across from each other. In an instant, Sirius snapped off a couple of spells, which Harry narrowly avoided, before trading back her own blows and shielding against others. The two traded quite a few spells, splashes of various colours lighting up the yard. Eventually, Sirius motioned for her to stop after just a few short minutes.

“You’re quite good at this, Harry,” Sirius wheezed. “You’ve got stamina for days, even if neither of us could disarm the other. You might just wear your enemies down before they can do anything permanent. Your spells hit hard, d’ya know that?”

“Do they?” Harry said, raising her eyebrow.

“Every time you tried to launch a stunner, it was like getting hit by three of the bloody things,” Sirius complained. “If you’d launched another one, I might’ve ended up on my arse.”

Harry laughed, before glancing down at the Elder Wand, held firmly in her hand. She quirked her mouth. “I suppose it’ll take some getting used to, using this wand.”

“From my experience,” Sirius said, dropping into one of the available deck chairs. “There is very little you cannot do with a bit of practice.”

“I suppose I’d best get started, then,” Harry said dryly. “Wouldn’t want to get offed, now, would I?”

…

_The innocence of my youth was lost by the time of the Tyrant King._

_Descending from his seat of power in Qahirah, the Tyrant King’s enforcers descended upon villages and tribes to enforce the new power. The new King was distrustful of mages, believing them an unholy menace– blaming them for failed crop yields, flooding in the valleys and fields, and diseases flowing in from Judea and Macedon._

_I had to witness the death of my people, their extermination, at the hands of the Tyrant’s armies. I always believed there was no god but Allah, and Muhammad was his prophet– but they slaughtered us in droves, accusing us of being heathens and heretics– not realizing that Zoroaster’s teachings were more than just the mere fabric of Persian religion, it formed a large portion of our understanding of the magic we weave._

_It was not until after that I learned we had been betrayed by those we considered friends and allies. It has fermented my life-long hatred of collaborators. Through the night as al-Misr burned, I knew that villages sold out their trusted shamans and potioneers in favour of safety from the Tyrant King. Thousands of magi, stripped of their staves and scrying balls, sent up the river Nile to their deaths. To this very day, I swear that the Nile ran red with their blood._

_But the worst part was not just the fact that those who did not possess the gift of magic sold us out–some of our own sold us out to seek mercy. My closest friend, a man who had been with me since my earliest days in the sands of the Sudan, sold me out to the authorities. Only I, and one of my sons, were able to escape. We drifted, to Macedon, then Rome, only ending up in the land of the Picts after much determination to avoid the growing tide of anti-mage sentiment in the East._

_I helped build a sanctuary, a place of learning, fulfilling my oath to God above, and doing what I always thought right. But those terrible dreams, memories, and the feeling of loss carries so heavily, and has influenced much of what I have done in my time as Salah as-Zahir al-Haya._

_Goedric, Rowena and Helga do not understand why I am so reluctant to bring the children of non-magi into our world. I do not do it out of hatred, I do out of fear. How can we prevent another Tyrant King from burning us all?_

_There is much work that remains to be done, but I do not believe I can do it here. The misunderstanding of the magic of my youth, and the misunderstanding of my beliefs will always hang over everyone’s heads like a terrible storm– for the good of all, I must leave._

Harry had acquired the diary of Salah al-Zahir al-Haya, or, rather _Salazar Slytherin_ from the Chamber of Secrets, and had taken great pains to check it for any negative magic. A magical diary with bad things attached to it was still too familiar in her head to make her anything but concerned that there may be negative things attached to it.

It had been the same book where she had learned Salazar’s ethical code, the same one she had shared with the Slytherin House, in hopes of inspiring them to do what was right, rather than what was easy.

But _beyond that_, the book had contained a lot of Slytherin’s personal thoughts on the goings on of the early days of Hogwarts, and some of the elaborations on his personal politics and views. The man made good points where collaborators were concerned. The circumstances that had led to the death of Salazar’s wife and most of his children had resonated with her– would her father have been so jaded and callous if he’d survived that night in Godric’s Hallow?

Reading the book to completion had made Harry feel many terribly complex feelings. With Voldemort having returned, she couldn’t simply pretend she was studying these things for fun– she was studying these things so she, and everyone she loved and cared about, could survive to see another morning.

Closing the book with a frustrated huff, she placed it on the desk in front of her and massaged her temples.

What was she getting herself into?


	10. I Want It All

Harry had, in her life, visited the magical _King’s Court_ in Cadzow very infrequently. The high street was almost as large, if not perhaps a bit larger than that of Diagon Alley in London, but had far less in the way of traffic to-and-from each year, in no small part thanks to the Ministry for Magic’s tax levies to encourage Hogwarts students to buy their supplies in London.

However, for those who could perhaps afford the higher cost, Cadzow was a far more pleasant place to shop. Aurors and special Muggle police guarded the entrance to the shopping district– to the average Muggle, they’d see a ratty, underdeveloped street with no redeeming factors other than the fact it seemed to be under perpetual construction.

Just about the only thing you could not get in _King’s Court_ was a wand, due to the licensing restrictions of the Ministry for Magic leaving only one grandfathered wandmaker in the fair isle of Great Britain left, the esteemed Ollivander.

_Wondrous Wardrobe_ was a delightful place that sold a variety of wixen robes, far more diverse in their offerings than that of _Madame Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions_, as the shop offered robes made in foreign designs, as well as enchanted versions of Muggle clothes, such as pullovers charmed to stay warm, shirts charmed to cool, socks charmed to stay dry, and trousers charmed to always fit without a belt.

Further up the street, _The Inkwell_ stood out as a great haven of buying specialty quills and inkwells, varying in colour and design as well, and coming from various breeds of owl or other feathered-creature. It didn’t sell Muggle craft supplies, but that was largely because the parchment wixen used was an incredibly poor match with the average Muggle ballpoint pen.

_Quality Quidditch Supplies_ was one of the few ‘corporate’ establishments, along with _Zonko’s Joke Shop_. Both stores had fronts in nearly every high street across the British Isles, and Cadzow was no exception to the rule. The former shop was the most popular, with young wix clustering around the window ogling the fastest broom available at the present time.

The latter shop was nearly empty– a testament to the waning power of the Zonko’s brand in favour of what was being dreamed up by the two Gryffindor madmen in Devon.

So many other shops dotted the landscape as well– pet shops, small medi-clinics, a shop claiming to sell beauty potions to help ‘_clear a witch’s complexion in a day!_’, multiple book stores ranging from standard Hogwarts fare to things that might draw some questionable looks, a few apothecaries, and a variety of restaurants catering to the discerning customer, ranging from rather high-brow cuisine imported from the plains of Rome, to things as simple as sweets.

It was this particular morning that had Harry, Draco and Narcissa were walking through the cobblestone street towards _Quixote Books and Tomes_. Thanks to her newly awakened Metamorph powers, Harry had hidden herself easily enough– she’d changed her face to be more… _English_, propped herself up a couple of inches, and gave herself flowing black curls, making her fit in quite well with her cousins, looking like an elder daughter or a distant niece.

She’d even taken on a name appropriate to the Black family– Vega.

“What exactly are we looking for here, erm, Vega?” Draco asked, using the nickname glancing at his friend as she entered the store.

“Some books that Hogwarts wouldn’t usually carry,” Harry said, nodding at the use of her temporary alias. “I know it might be a bit cliché, but I’d like to look into some darker magic.”

“The most influential person in Slytherin, with a mass following of loyal friends, bearing an unbelievably powerful wand, wants to learn darker magic?” Draco said. “Cliché isn’t quite the word I’d use.”

“It’s not like I want to use it to hurt people, Draco. One of the things I learned reading Slytherin’s memoirs is that sometimes the best form of defending oneself against an enemy is learning how that enemy functions. While the standard spell repertoire of a seventh year DADA student is great, I’d like to broaden my horizons a bit, you know?” Harry said, looking annoyed at the implication.

“It’s a wise decision,” Narcissa said with a bright smile. “There are plenty of spells one can learn that do not necessarily involve black magic, something closer to grey, perhaps?”

“Yes, I’m not looking to do blood rituals involving cannibalism or necromancy, I’m just looking for maybe something to incapacitate a Death Eater or two,” Harry said in a low voice.

“If I recall,” Narcissa said quietly. “Severus had quite a reputation as an adept spellcrafter– your father as well, the two were quite noted for their heated rivalry.”

“Hmm, maybe I’ll ask Professor Snape for some ideas on where I can start, but in the meantime,” Harry said, picking up a copy of _Jinxes, Hexes and Curses: A Guide to the World of Martial Magic_ in her hand. “Something like this, perhaps?”

…

In another part of Scotland, Severus Snape was seated in a small side-room of Hogwarts Castle, along with the Headmaster, Professor McGonagall, Professor Sprout and Professor Flitwick.

“So, the time has come again for us to discuss the fifth year prefects, and the Head Boy and Head Girl appointments,” Dumbledore said, adjusting his glasses. “I believe we should start with the prefect appointments. Minerva?”

“I have been giving this quite a lot of thought,” Minerva said, adjusting her collar. “The two students who I feel have demonstrated the most leadership and poise among the incoming fifth-year class, are Miss Patil… and Mister Longbottom.”

“I’d say that’s an excellent choice,” Pomona said with an approving nod. “Mister Longbottom has been doing quite a lot to help some of the younger years with their Herbology work, even in different houses. I honestly intend to offer him an apprenticeship when he finishes school.”

“I think this sort of responsibility will help Mister Longbottom out,” Albus said with a nod, stroking his beard. “What about you, Pomona?”

“After last year’s nonsense, I can’t honestly say I really _want_ to give prefect status to any of my Hufflepuffs,” Pomona said, frowning deeply. “I suppose if I have to, I’d give it to Miss Bones and Mister Hopkins. I would have considered Mister Macmillan, Mister Smith or Mister Fletchley, but both exhibited severely un-Hufflepuff-like qualities last year where Mister Potter was concerned.”

Albus nodded. “If there was something we could have done to fix that problem, but I think Harry dealt with the problem quite professionally. Filius?”

“It was quite an easy choice– Miss Patil and Mister Boot– Mister Goldstein got himself into the same mess of poor behaviour last year as well, and I don’t feel it right to reward him for some of the things he tried to do,” Filius said, shaking his head sadly.

“I think they will do a fine job, Filius. We can’t always predict how things turn out, and if Mister Goldstein has issues with his temper, then perhaps he is not the right fit for a prefect. Alright, Severus– your choices?”

Severus sighed and rubbed his eyes. “It has been quite a troublesome decision to make. Part of me wanted to give it to Mister Potter, but… while the boy has quite a strong affinity for leadership, and effectively runs Slytherin House as it is today, he has been quite insular, and I don’t believe he will have the time nor inclination to take on the role that a prefect requires of him.”

He glanced at Minerva, and bowed his head. “No offense to your son, of course. I am more than confident he could do it– I just don’t think it is in his best interest.”

Severus shrugged. “I could say much the same about Draco Black– I thought about him as well, but he is part of Potter’s quartet, and I don’t think he has time to be a prefect when he will inevitably play a role in whatever destiny Harry has. So, ultimately, I had to find choices outside of those four.”

“Blaise Zabini,” Severus began. “and Millicent Bulstrode.”

There were smatterings of understanding, and Minerva nodded her head. “Thank you, Severus, for not giving my child even more of a headache to deal with.”

“That reminds me,” Albus said suddenly. “There is something I need to inform you of before I tell you who the Head Girl and Head Boy will be.”

Albus took in a deep breath. “The Ministry for Magic has decided to enforce a state-backed Defence teacher this year. The Minister’s undersecretary, Dolores Umbridge, will be formally appointed at the next Wizengamot session on the 31st of July. I do not know exactly what sort of power she will have here, but she will take over the Defence department, and be part of a Ministry-backed task force investigating the quality of education here at Hogwarts.”

Severus straightened up. “This is going to be a problem.”

“Yes,” Albus said. “The Ministry is aiming attacks at me and Harry, and it will inevitably have direct effects on the school itself. There is little I can do at this point, my hands are tied. All I can say is, I advise all of you to do your part. Remember, our job is to protect Hogwarts and her students first, but I need not tell you that the Ministry is quite powerful. Do what you can to assist our students in civil disobedience, but do not allow yourself to be caught in the act. I will be unable to protect your jobs over the long-term.”

Pomona and Filius nodded, and once Dumbledore had relayed the information of the new Head Boy and Head Girl appointments, had left the room to do what they needed to do, leaving Severus, Minerva and Albus behind. The room was tense, and Albus looked quite befuddled. Minerva sighed and spoke.

“Harry… is planning to form an organization. I can’t call it a club, really, because it’s not,” She said quietly. “She is gathering together Slytherins and Gryffindors to resist against what she sees as a growing trend of hostility against her and anybody aligned to her.”

“She told you this?” Severus said, eyebrow raised.

“Yes, mostly out of curiosity of where she could hold meetings without being disturbed. She doesn’t want to come into conflict with us as professors, but she is also concerned of the growing animosity between our two houses and the students in Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. She wants to protect her friends, first and foremost. It is… really, a noble goal.”

“Indeed,” Severus said, tapping his finger to his chin. “Does she realize that her group sounds very similar to that of the early Death Eaters?”

“The irony isn’t lost on her, Severus,” Minerva said, narrowing her eyes. “Believe me, it eats her up at how she keeps trying to distance herself from the Dark Lord, but keeps being pushed towards being his exact opposite. And this one,” She said, jabbing her thumb towards Albus. “isn’t helping one iota.”

“These are the sort of occupational hazards you took on when you adopted her, Minerva,” Albus said quietly. “You knew she had already been set up for a grand destiny from the moment she got that scar.”

“I know, I know, It’s just terribly unfair of us to keep doing this to her,” Minerva said. “She’s… more than just her destiny. But everything we do where she’s concerned seems driven by it. I just fear things will go in a direction none of us want.”

“We must have faith,” Albus said, bowing his head. “Faith in Harry, and faith in ourselves to do what is right.”

…

“You know,” Harry said, setting her fork down on her plate. “I never did think about all the legal stuff that would go into getting recognized as a girl.”

“Hmm,” Narcissa said, thinking. “I believe that sort of thing is under the jurisdiction of the Department of Records. They keep track of all the birth and death certificates. I think they’ll be a fine starting point for more information.”

“I could send them an owl?” Harry suggested. Narcissa nodded in agreement.

“That might be best, or perhaps the next time you’re at the Ministry, visit them.”

“Oh, I could go the afternoon of my OWL,” Harry said brightly. “Perfect timing for that!”

“Poor dear, spending your entire birthday at the Ministry doing bureaucratic things. How shameful,” Narcissa said, shaking her head in disapproval. “Your fifteenth birthday should be spent somewhere important like your home or something, not in that dingy underground labyrinth.”

“You’re telling me?” Harry said, sniffing in annoyance.

…

The lower levels of the Ministry for Magic were infrequently used these days– three of them belonged to Wizengamot meeting rooms and court rooms, and two of them belonged to the Department of Mysteries and their labyrinthine network of corridors and rooms full to the brim with research opportunities, but the lowest levels hadn’t been used in nearly five-hundred years.

Amelia Bones felt incredibly weary as she, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Alastor Moody descended to one of these abandoned levels. It was an incredibly risky venture they were on– one that could see them in Azkaban, but one that held great rewards if successful– plus, she was beginning to feel it was an absolute necessity to ensure the safety and security of her department, the Ministry as a whole, and the Statute of Secrecy.

The elevator stopped, and the trio stepped out, Amelia adjusting her monocle as they slowly walked down the corridor, hands lingering by their wands.

Crossing into one of the older meeting rooms, Amelia came face to face with a cadre of four Unspeakables. The meeting had been set up in secret, passed around on clandestine codes on the backs of standard interoffice mail. She knew she could probably trust these people, but this day and age? She trusted nobody if she could help it.

“Madame Bones,” one of them said, bowing his head in deference. Amelia recognized the man as Gareth Mullins, the Head of the Department of Mysteries. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”

“Gareth,” Amelia said. “I assume it was you who requested this meeting?”

“Indeed,” Gareth said, looking stoic. “The growing mistrust has not gone unnoticed. What rumours I have heard of… the events at Hogwarts. Do you know if they are certain or not?”

“I was not there to see it myself,” Amelia said, sitting down in one of the chairs. “But I don’t believe the official Ministry line either– not after the Sirius Black incident.”

“You and I are in agreement, then,” Gareth said. “If… _he_ is back, then we are in grave danger. You represent a pillar of law enforcement that is willing and able to interfere with his ability to terrorize– and I represent a pillar of research that will not bend to his ignorance. I’ve already noticed some members of my department starting to open research leads on first-generation wix and how they came to have magic to begin with.”

“That…” Amelia said, looking concerned.

“Would cause a war,” Moody finished for her, looking grim. “It’d cause a bloody war– and y’know what? I wouldn’t put it past some people to turn on the Ministry wholesale if they endorsed that kind of policy. Including a certain teenage mythical icon.”

“Harry Potter,” Amelia murmured. “It would explain the Ministry’s latest… press campaign quite well.”

“Make the public hate the boy,” Moody said. “And they’ll fall in line with any sort of peace, law and order campaign they can come up with, particularly if it scapegoats the one minority that has the least amount of clout in the Ministry.”

“Indeed,” Gareth said, pressing his fingers together. “I presume you’re making plans, Amelia?”

“Yes,” Amelia said. “We’ve been studying some Muggle history and thinking about the best way to… take care of things in the time of need. The Ministry for Magic is very centralized, there’s very little to do outside of London proper to take over. We’d need to isolate and eliminate Minister Fudge and his advisors, secure the Wizengamot to legitimize it, and then enact martial law to quell any uprisings.”

“Easier said than done,” Moody growled. “Particularly when they’ve all got wands.”

“Most adults aren’t that good at spellcasting,” Gareth said. “For a lot of them, it’s been decades since they last attended a class or revision on their spellcasting, so I wouldn’t be terribly surprised if many of them had weak stunners or couldn’t stun at all. Your Aurors could likely clean up any resistance in days. My Unspeakables would like to join you.”

“Can we trust all of them?” Amelia asked.

“You have done your diligence to cleanse your department of sympathizers after the Lucius Malfoy scandal. I am doing much the same, reassigning certain people to incredibly dangerous projects and… arranging accidents,” Gareth said. “A tragic loss, to be certain, but one that must be done for the sake of the future.”

Amelia closed her eyes and massaged the bridge of her nose. “Do you know of any other departments that might be interested?”

“I believe that young Weasley fellow in DIMC might be. Since he took over, he’s been up to his eyeballs in shit– particularly after the Triwizard Tournament debacle,” Gareth said. “Perhaps we could reach out to him, see if he’s… in a seditious mood.”

“We could also speak to his father, Arthur,” Kingsley said. “He’s in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office. The man’s honest and caring. He didn’t fight in the War, but I know he’d do anything to protect his children from harm these days.”

“That might work,” Amelia said. “But do not let me catch either of you discussing these plans with Dumbledore or the Order of the Phoenix,” She said, looking at Moody and Kingsley firmly.

“Not yet, anyway. For the moment, let’s discuss targets. Minister Fudge is a given, of course– the man needs to be neutralized.”

“Either put him under an unforgivable or kill him,” Gareth said, shrugging. “But everyone around him will likely require erasing.”

“Undersecretary Umbridge,” Kingsley said, with a nod. “She is most certainly a threat, though from what I hear, she won’t be around Minister Fudge much longer. Her appointment to Hogwarts is all but guaranteed at this point.”

“Perhaps Mister Potter, or Headmaster Dumbledore will do us all a favour and take her out themselves,” Amelia mused. “That way we’ve not got to worry about it. Okay, who else?”

“The entire Wizengamot, really. Including Dumbledore.”

“Dumbledore won’t serve any threat,” Amelia said, waving her hand in dismissal. “He’s too concerned with Hogwarts most of the time, and with the Dark Lord back, that will chew up the rest of his time. Besides, it won’t be long before he’s forced out of the Wizengamot anyway.”

“Anybody who may or may not have Death Eater sympathies. That’s a tall order, but one that can be rectified in short order,” Gareth said. “I’m sure there are oaths we can organize to take care of that and force their loyalty.”

“Indeed,” Amelia said. “Well, if that is all, Gareth. We will meet to discuss this further later. In the interim, your discretion is appreciated.”

“Of course, Amelia. I will be in touch with details,” Gareth said, rising to his feet. “It is probably best if we did not all leave here together.”

“Indeed,” She said quietly.

It now fell to her to begin compiling lists of people that required special attention in the event such a plan as this went through. Grimacing to herself, she knew she had many sleepless nights ahead of her.

…

_A young fighter screaming, with no time for doubt_

_With the pain and anger, can’t see a way out_

_It ain’t much I’m asking, I heard him say,_

_Gotta find me a future– move out of my way!_

Harry, for all her exposure to the wonderful entrancing world of magic, still had a very strong soft spot for certain Muggle comforts. As she jogged along the trails behind her house through the dense wooded areas, she allowed the music from her compact cassette deck to carry her away and invigorate her. She had to do everything she could to stay in top shape. Not just for the fight against Voldemort, but for Quidditch too– as strange as that seemed.

What a lot of people who weren’t into the sport just _assumed_ was that it didn’t require endurance or dexterity. You know, you’re sitting on a broomstick and flying around, letting the magic of the broom do most of the work. But there was more to it. Being able to adapt to sudden changes, knowing how to throw your weight so you didn’t go arse over kettle and spill onto the ground, and all sorts of other things. True, she didn’t have to exert herself nearly as much as say, a Chaser or a Beater, whose job involved arm power– but her position on the Slytherin team definitely required fine motor skills and endurance, along with a sharp eye and plenty of alertness.

That, and– truth told, running was a great way to burn off stress and anxiety. She would be lying if she didn’t say she was worried about what was to come. The Ministry gunning for her with a slander campaign the size of Loch Ness, Voldemort on the prowl, and her DADA OWL coming up at the end of July.

She’d tried other means of distracting herself, but her artistic capacity was only so finite when her brain was working at five thousand things per minute without any rhyme or reason to the malestrom.

And those five-thousand-things-per-minute often involved topics she’d wished she had the ability to cover in short order. She craved to know more about her parents. She _could_ summon them from the ethereal plane and thereafter grill them for more information about what her heritage and origins were. Was there more to magic than just waving a wand and pointing it at things? Were some of the conventions often used by wix in relation to ‘All Things Muggle’ utter trash?

Those were the kind of questions that drove her absolutely batty at times. She was a Slytherin, she had great, ambitious dreams of a future where the bigotry and ignorance that ruled the day was scoured away in a halcyon of fire, no quarter granted to those who stood in the way of true, unyielding progress.

Though, despite that– she was incredibly logical. Chemistry, potions, physics, alchemy, engineering– it all called to her like a moth to flame. She often thought about the pursuit of these things in a very deep way– the manifestation of a desire to crack the code of the unknown and learning all that the mysteries of the universe had to offer.

As if on cue, her thoughts flittered back to her trip to King’s Court in Cadzow. She’d disguised herself as another faceless member of the House of Black, but in doing so, she had… changed little bits of her face. In order to appear less conspicuous, she had made herself appear _English._

But not English in the nationality sense. If anybody heard her speak, even when she was under the masquerade of _Vega Black_, they’d be greeted with her country girl brogue. No, that wasn’t what it was.

She’d made herself _ethnically_ English. And she didn’t like that.

Her memories of Number Four Privet Drive were still very faint, like little grains of sand that were carried off by high tide, but she did remember that her… appearance had always been a manner of contention.

Her aunt had been fortunate enough to _pass_, if you could put it that way– nobody ever said an epithet to her like they did Harry. Perhaps her eyes were just a bit in the ‘right’ sort of way, or her lips were ‘the correct’ way, but whatever it was– her husband, and her community never said a thing about her appearance.

Harry, on the other hand…

The things she did recall of her time with the Dursleys were not pleasant. Ethnic slurs, affronts to her mother’s blood purity in the _Muggle sense_, carried strongly in those small fractals of memories. Harry supposed that in some subconscious way, she had been come defensive of her origins, the way she looked.

Stopping on the trail and sighing to herself, she shook her head. Hermione probably understood what she was feeling. Hermione’s status as a first-generation wix was of similar regard in this world. Her blood– to the bigots– was mud, and therefore she was unclean; and many Muggles probably felt the same way when they looked at her parentage. It was a vicious joke that seemed to exist in two worlds, and made Harry nearly homicidal with the thought of it.

It had taken Harry a very long time to feel comfortable looking at herself in the mirror once she’d been freed from the abuse of her past. Her eyes no longer reminded her of her _difference_ from her relatives, it reminded her of Lily Potter.

And in those moments she was able to take the Tonic, everything else did too.

Harry sighed again, kicking a nearby log. She didn’t want to be considered a boy anymore, the emotional strain of the constant problems that gave her was just too much to bear. She was _Harry Potter_. Her name wouldn’t change, she still loved the name her parents gave her, even if it was totally unsuitable for a young woman– but she was that. Certainly so, she was a _young woman._ Every fibre of her being, every atom, every little bit of her from head to toe _knew_ the universal certainty of that.

The fire in her stomach, the desire to burn away the anxiousness was snuffed in a moment, and she slumped down onto the log she’d kicked. Stopping her music, she rubbed her face in annoyance. She wished she could just drift away, and never have to worry about _responsibility_, but she knew better. It would be a very long time before she had such pleasant things in her life.

With a low growl, and a quiet pop, she apparated home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, everyone!


	11. Spending Your Birthday At the Ministry Isn't Very Fun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry goes to the Ministry for Magic for her OWLs, and does some other things while she's there.

When prompted with her question, Sirius had given her a strange look and then settled back into the chair, a pensive expression settling across his face. “To be honest, Lily wasn’t really our friend until very late in our time at Hogwarts. She never… told me much about what her life was like. I guess I never asked, either. I do remember that Lily was quite the firebrand. She probably held the detention record for years.” He said, frowning.

“Mum did mention she held the record for earliest detention after she knocked some kid into oblivion for calling her… erm, you know,” Harry said.

Sirius nodded. “I remember that, yeah, Lily tended to do that. But… Lily was also kind of mean in a lot of ways. I suppose we all were. My memories of back then are still a little damaged from Azkaban, but I think they’re a little less rose-tinted than they were. Lily was, not to speak ill of the dead, kind of a bitch.”

Harry raised her eyebrow. “What do you mean by that?” She asked, curious.

“She was vindictive, there was… this thing that happened when we were fifteen. She and… well, Snape, were best friends. Had been since childhood,” Sirius said. “I think he fancied her, but there was this argument after me and James were harassing him one day, and… I guess they got into a snit over it and he called her a mudblood. She basically pulled a heel-face turn on him, became very close to us, and ended up dating your dad.”

“It sounds like all of you were terrible people,” Harry said, deadpan. “Not that she wasn’t justified in cutting off her best friend, I had always wondered why she referred to him in the former tense– but then befriending _his_ bullies? What sort of nonsense is that?”

“We weren’t nice people, no,” Sirius said, having at least the grace to look bashful. “I had a chip on my shoulder from my parents, my brother and the family bullshit. That was the same year I ended up moving in with your grandparents. Your Dad was spoiled rotten from birth, he had an ego that could fill the Great Hall _and then some_.”

He took a deep breath. “They did mellow out, once they’d married and Lily got pregnant. She took anger management classes for a time, and once James’ parents both died, he’d begun to realize he was the last scion of his family, other than… well, you. Your parents were imperfect, that much was certain, and that was only exacerbated by the war they flung themselves into as soon as they’d gotten their certifications,” He said quietly.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “After the war, I went and joined the Aurors, I wanted to fight against everything my parents had raised me to believe.”

“You were an _Auror_,” Harry said, disbelief evident in her voice. “And they _still_ thought you were responsible for what happened?”

“Quite a few Aurors were convicted of being Death Eaters or Death Eater sympathizers after the war. I wasn’t ever put to trial, but I was not an outlier,” Sirius said, looking nauseous. “James never went on to start a career. He wanted to be a stay-at-home father, so Lily could pursue her mastery.”

“Remus told me that… she was the youngest Potions Mistress in generations,” Harry said.

“Indeed. She was looking to become the Potions professor at Hogwarts. Slughorn was about to retire, you know,” Sirius said. “Once you were born, she was fully intending to interview for the position once Slughorn officially made his retirement announcement, but…”

“The Dark Lord killed her and my father, and Professor Snape got the position instead as a plea bargain to avoid being convicted as a Death Eater, since it would prove that Dumbledore trusted him.” Harry said.

She remembered the pensieve memories that Dumbledore had shared with her and had largely filled in the gaps in the narrative. Snape had done something to _help_ the cause against the Dark Lord, then became a spy, and had been given protection once the war had ended.

Harry rubbed her eyes irritably. She had questions that remained unanswered, and she doubted they’d ever be answered. The wanting call of the Resurrection Stone on her finger itched, but she ignored it– she would not drag her parents out of the afterlife just to ask invasive questions about how they conducted themselves in life.

Not only was it rude, it would probably disappoint her. Harry had learned from Minerva very early in life that there was no such thing as a perfect person; Dumbledore had merely reinforced that idea with their long conversations. The man had made a grievous error in leaving her with her mother’s Muggle sister, the man had made a grievous error in allowing himself to become ensnared in romantic passion with Gellert Grindelwald, and the man had made the mistake of duelling and _losing_ the Elder Wand to Voldemort twenty-some-odd years ago.

But the list grew from there. Only Snape and Dumbledore had caught on to Quirrell’s loyalty to the Dark Lord, and even then, they had consciously _allowed_ things to go on long enough that an eleven-year-old had been put under an Unforgivable and forced to kill their Defence professor. Second year– the professors had no solutions as Harry single-handedly solved most of the Chamber nonsense, and third year, the professors couldn’t stop Peter Pettigrew until Harry had volunteered to be bait, confident in her ability to beat him in a one-to-one duel.

No. Not a single person on this planet was perfect, and she was quite alright with that.

“I guess that answers most of what I wanted to know,” Harry said, smiling. “Thank you, Sirius.”

“No problem, kiddo. I’m sorry I couldn’t help more. You deserve the right to know more about your parents,” Sirius said darkly. Unspoken was the frustration at the utter injustice in that.

Harry sighed.

“It’s alright,” She said, waving her hand. Sirius nodded and rose from his chair and left her bedroom, looking a bit blue. Harry sighed again and fell backwards, head hitting her pillow. Leaning up just a bit, she drew her wand and flicked it towards her bookshelf, before flicking it at the small table in the corner of the room. Laying back and closing her eyes some, she heard vinyl clicking down, and the very faint crackling of a stylus rubbing against the grooves of a record.

Silently summoning the headphones, she slipped them over her head and made the conscious choice to lay there quietly.

…

It was great fortune that her periodic ‘lessons’ in Metamorph magic interdicted the pubescent angst that was thrashing her inside and out. Her deepening voice, the _hair_ she found on certain parts of herself, all of it made her want to pulverize things, but Dora guiding her through her birth right was down-right fascinating, her cousin-mentor had insisted on starting with small adjustments, but gradually growing in complexity until she could do all the same things her cousin did– those adjustments often helped. Raising the octave of her voice back to where she liked it, eliminating pesky hair follicles…

It was just as much therapeutic as it was a lecture series on how to control her powers.

And that was basically how her life proceeded through June. Regimented– and very constant. She found herself repeating much the same thing every single day on end as she inexorably marched to her fifteenth birthday. But there were a few things that broke up the monotony of study-study-study.

Professor Snape had brought her a new book. One that he claimed that Lily had loaned him just before that Halloween that left Harry orphaned. _Potion-Making of the Orient: The A-Z Guide_ was quite the read. Parts of it went straight over head since she wasn’t quite a Potions mistress, but she saw that in a lot of ways, the ‘domestic potioneering’ that Snape always complained about was in truly a _terrible state_.

A lot of potion ingredients out of the Far East, things like cordyceps, for instance– little fungi that were known for their assimilatory qualities. They were considered ‘too dangerous’ for potion use within the Five Kingdoms, but were widely accepted in the Huang Empire, Yamato, Slavonia and Koryo as the basis for potions that could enhance memory retention and intellect.

But, much to Harry’s surprise– that wasn’t even the _tip_ of the iceberg. It was not entirely uncommon in parts of China for unicorn parts to be used in potions. She was utterly surprised given the superstitions that seemed to revolve around the poor creatures. She figured that unicorn horns and the like were useful for… _something_?

She almost didn’t want to know; it was sort of perverse in a manner of speaking.

But despite it, the book had more ‘useful’ content for her anyway– it contained extensive notes written within the margins in her mother’s handwriting. She had so precious little of artefacts belonging to her parents–most of their things remained in the Potter family vault, where Harry was fine to keep them until she _felt_ ready to start excavating that part of her psyche, if she was being honest.

…

The month of July came and blew by much quicker than Harry had initially anticipated, and she awoke on the morning of her fifteenth birthday with much the same anticipation a condemned man looks forward the electric chair. The better part of her morning would be spent in the Ministry of Magic’s hallowed halls, first dealing with the OWL, and then dealing with _whatever nonsense_ involved with applying for a gender change at the Department of Records.

Harry decided that first thing was first– she wanted a nice shower. Once that was squared away, she made sure that her Metamorph powers were reigned in and nothing gave the game away. She… _didn’t trust the Ministry?_ Not after all the things Tonks had gabbed on about with how it was basically ready to fall apart at the seams. Really, she didn’t want to be around the place _at all_ today, she wanted to go out with Draco, Narcissa _and Hermione._

She missed her girlfriend, damnit!

Deciding to be her usual mischievous self, she put on something that was quite feminine in taste but not _egregiously over the top_. A nice white blouse and a pair of jeans, along with some of the very fine robes she’d been bought at Narcissa’s insistence. With a hairband tackling her fussy hair and some nice earrings that had been a gift from Hermione, well, Harry thought she would make a good impression.

Her mother was standing at the base of the stairs and nodded in approval as she saw her daughter reach the landing. “Good,” She said. “I was afraid I’d have to send you back upstairs to change so you didn’t look like you grew up in a stye.”

“Of course not,” Harry said with a grin. “I take personal appearance _very seriously_.”

“This, coming from the lass who I have _seen_ leave the house without taking a brush to her hair?” Minerva said with a raised eyebrow.

“My hair is like that, Mum, _you know that_,” Harry protested, folding her arms over her flat chest. “I’m sure that’s why Granddad Potter invented Sleekeazy’s, he probably got tired of taming his annoying hair after a few decades.”

“Point taken,” Minerva said good-naturedly.

The trip to the Ministry was blissfully brief, they first flooed to the Leaky Cauldron, and then onwards through another fireplace to the Ministry foyer. Harry had actually never _been_ to the Ministry for Magic before, she had been invited to attend her godfather’s trial back when they’d captured Pettigrew, but she’d been in Toletania soaking up the sun and having fun– in retrospect, the better of the two choices. The foyer was very grand, with security checkpoints standing between the menagerie of floos and the Atrium proper.

Briefly stopping at the security desk, a bored looking blonde witch looked up and nearly went rigid.

“Professor McGonagall! Erm, yes, uh, what can I do for you?” The woman asked, looking terrified like she was back at Hogwarts again, being caught doing something she shouldn’t.

“Good morning, Miss Stebbins,” Minerva said smoothly. “I’m here to escort Harry to the Department of Examinations and Certifications, and we have a second appointment with the Department of Records.”

“Yes, of course,” the receptionist– Stebbins, Harry noted, quickly shuffled some papers around. “I will require your wands, of course,”

Harry and Minerva both handed their wands over to the receptionist who quickly placed them on some special device before handing them back, and nodding. Suddenly, out of the dispensary in front of them, came two badges.

_Minerva McGonagall, Concerned Mother_

_Harry Potter, Public Nuisance_

“Public nuisance? That’s hardly fair,” Harry muttered as she clipped it to her blouse.

“You’re not a public nuisance in a bad sort of way,” Minerva assured her. “Merely the way your father and godfather were.”

“So, you’re saying I give you and the other staff at Hogwarts headaches?” Harry retorted, and her mother looked at her knowingly.

The benefit to dressing like she did is that very few people gave her much attention until they caught sight of her name badge and did a double take. Harry thought she should be a little more terrified and nervous than she was– this was technically her great big public coming-out party. By the end of the day, more certain than not, everyone in these fair isles would know she was truly a woman. It was _wonderful_!

A quick elevator ride down to the appropriate level, she found herself being corralled into the Department of Examinations and Certifications office. The receptionist took their names and had them sit down and wait to be called for their appointment. It took a bit of time– the joys of bureaucracy, but Earnest Brimley emerged from the examination room with Narcissa Black.

“Cissy?” Harry said, blinking. She and Narcissa had become quite close friends over the last few months, and the thirty-one year old loathed the very idea of being called ‘Aunt Narcissa’, and decided that calling each other ‘Cousin’ was sort of bland and droll, and had insisted that Harry use the pet name that her other cousins and sisters had used.

“Harry! My, don’t you look radiant today,” Narcissa said. “It was supposed to be a surprise, but I’ve finally gotten around to finishing my certification exams. I just took the Charms NEWT,” She said, grinning ear to ear and bouncing with quite some exuberance.

“And she did quite well too. Of course, the results won’t be available for a few weeks, but…” Earnest said, before shrugging. “She’ll pass with flying colours in my opinion.”

“You’re too much, Mister Brimley,” Narcissa said playfully. “Thank you for all your assistance.”

“Think nothing of it, young lady,” He said happily, before looking at Harry. “She called you Harry– Harry Potter, I presume?”

“That would be I,” Harry said dryly.

He nodded, saying nothing about her appearance difference from the last time they’d spoken. “If you’ll just follow me, we can start your DADA OWL.”

…

Once she’d done the written portion of the exam, Earnest took the sheets of parchment away and tucked them into a folder before having her stand up. With a flick of his wand, the desk vanished from sight, and he nodded.

“Welcome to the practical portion of your Defence Against the Dark Arts OWL. In this portion, you will be performing a certain number of spells to test your readiness for certification. Are you ready to begin, _Miss_ Potter?”

“Absolutely, sir,” Harry said, drawing her wand and brandishing it.

Without warning, Earnest suddenly made the desk reappear in another corner of the room and splashed it with a nonverbal spell. The thing animated suddenly and began to charge at Harry with intent to bite into it.

Harry swiped her wand dramatically, and cast the incantation for the necessary counter jinx, causing the desk to skid to a halt, going inanimate again. Earnest then cast a litany of jinxes _at her_, which she deftly repelled with a proper shield charm, and ducking out of the way.

This went on for a few minutes before Earnest signalled for her to stop. “Excellent work. Excellent,” He waved his wand and a large wardrobe appeared in the room. He swiped his wand again and the doors opened, and Harry came face to face _again_ with a boggart.

Harry thought she’d come face to face with a dying Hermione again, but this one took on a new form entirely. It was _her_, certainly. But it was… not quite her. She wore grey and green robes, and her face was settled into a permanent sneer, much like Professor Snape had at times. She was much older than she was now, her long black hair was wild and untamed, streaked with grey hair. Her eyes burned bright and red.

The much more evil version of herself drew the Elder Wand and aimed it at Harry, the words of the Killing Curse forming on her lips-

_“Riddikulus!”_

Dark Lady Harry disappeared, quickly replaced by a young redheaded girl with bushy, untamed hair, no older than seven in those same robes, wearing a floppy witches’ hat and jewellery that was clearly belonging to her mother… or _mothers_, given the fact the child had Hermione’s nose and Harry’s eyes.

“_Mummy! Look at me!_” The girl said, grinning at Harry with several missing baby teeth. Harry couldn’t help but start giggling, and the girl dissolved into the black smoke of a boggart, disappearing back into the wardrobe, whose door swung shut with a loud crash. Harry smirked, she’d have to share that memory with Hermione later.

Earnest and Harry shared a look for a moment before Earnest nodded. “Fine job, Miss Potter. Fine job. I understand you know some sixth and seventh year spells? Would you mind demonstrating those for me?”

Harry bowed her head, and suddenly, a wooden block careened through the air. A quick blast with a Reductor disintegrated the wooden block, causing sawdust to rain in the small examination room.

“I’d show you something more dangerous, I have… _some_ experience around those curses,” Harry said in a low murmur. “But I’d rather not endanger myself or you, sir.”

“Fair enough– as far as I’m concerned, you’ve earned yourself an O, but I still have to submit these results to the grading board and let them do their due diligence. You should have your results before you go back to Hogwarts,” Earnest said with a smile.

…

Another quick elevator trip later, Harry arrived on a much lower level of the Ministry. The Department of Records was dead ahead.

“Relax,” Minerva nudged Harry. “The Department of Records is home to some of the most eclectic and fascinating young women in the whole Ministry. There’s not a _single man_ in this department.”

“Why not?” Harry asked, confused.

“Something having to do with Dame Ada Lovelace who established the database system that maintains all the public records. She was harbouring some form of a grudge against the Minister for Magic at the time and built it to intentionally not work when a man tries to fuss with it. Oh, I’m sure you’ll love it down here– they don’t call these girls ‘The Sorting Valkyries’ for nothing.”

The Department of Records was _crazy_. Tons of young and old women alike dashing around in the most casual clothing Harry had _ever_ seen in the Ministry for Magic. The front receptionist was a honey-haired woman, who looked like she was fresh out of Hogwarts herself.

“Excuse me,” Harry said earnestly. “I’m here for my appointment?”

The woman glanced down at her ledger and her eyes widened. “Harry Potter, yes, um, this way!”

She escorted Harry down the corridors of the Department, Harry taking in the sheer _refined_ pandemonium of all the women working together in tandem. It was impressive, if not a bit daunting. They eventually arrived at what looked like the lead office; on the window of the office was a plaque.

_Dme. Janice Spellman_

_Director_

The receptionist knocked on the door, and poked her head in. After a moment, she popped back out and smiled at Harry.

“Madame Spellman will see you now,” She said, gesturing to the door.

“Excuse me, um, I didn’t get _your name_?” Harry asked, looking at the woman carefully.

“Oh! How rude of me,” She laughed and extended her hand. “Amanda Lewis, Receptionist Extraordinaire.”

“Harry Potter,” Harry replied, bowing her head.

“Pleasure to meet you, Harry, Merlin, I never expected to actually _meet_ you,”

“You’ll find, the more you talk to me, that I’m a downright annoyance to have around,” Harry said smugly. “I appreciate it, Amanda.”

“You’re quite welcome!” She said, and left. Harry plodded on with Minerva behind her into the office of the department head. She was a woman who reminded Harry distinctly of Madame Bones. She was in the prime of her life (in terms of wixen anyway) and seemed no-nonsense. Though that was crossed with the smile on her face.

“Ah! Harry Potter!” Madame Spellman said, gesturing. “Come in, come in, and take a seat, my dear.”

“Thank you, Madame Spellman,” Harry said with a smile.

“You may call me Janice, please,” The woman said warmly. “Now, what can our little coven do for you?”

“I’d like to… change the gender marker on my records,” Harry said. “As you can tell, I am… _not quite a male_.”

Janice nodded. “I think that might be doable. Let me see,” She waved her wand in a complex manner and Harry’s jaw dropped at the sight of the Lovelace database. It was an extensive web of things woven in such tight magic. After a few minutes, Janice’s pleasant smile turned into a neutral expression, before settling into a slight frown.

“It seems, young Harry, we might have a _bit of a snag_,” She said. “My database is flagging me that this change is in contravention to some Wizengamot law. Let me see…”

Suddenly, a sheet of parchment dropped in front of them, and Janice picked it up and glanced at it.

“The _Protection of Ancient Lineage Act of 1898_,” Janice said with a hum, her eyes flickering down.

“So moved on this day, the third day of October in the year Eighteen-Hundred-and-Ninety-Eight. The Wizengamot understands new innovations in potioneering have allowed for the larger proliferation and public access to the Tiresian Tonic, a substance known to change the physical sex of individuals who use it. Therefore, approved by a margin of 280 to 12, the Wizengamot hereby ratifies the following into law…”

She hummed.

“In the event that a Most Noble house is in danger of extinction, the sole remaining member shall not be permitted to amend or change any documentation that would potentially deprive them of any inheritance or succession, nor are they permitted to amend or change any documentation that would result in the aforementioned House going extinct.”

She dropped the parchment onto the table and rubbed her chin. “You are the last Potter, right?”

Harry winced. “Yes. My… father was an only child, so was I.”

“Unfortunately, this law… sort of ties my hands,” Janice said sourly. “I can’t change your legal gender without express permission from the Wizengamot.”

“Given the current political climate, and how much parts of the Ministry seem to hate my guts…” Harry murmured.

“It is incredibly unlikely you’d ever be approved for such a move. Particularly since it’s something _you want,_ and even if you did, it opens far too many doors for some very nasty things if the more… _dark_ groups in the Wizengamot wanted to try to make your life hell,” Janice said simply. “I really am sorry, Harry.”

Harry felt like she was going to cry, but she shook her head and stood up.

“Thank you, Janice, I… appreciate you trying,” She said, her voice taut and strained. “Perhaps someday, eventually, the Ministry will change their minds. Though, I doubt that will come _easily_. I know how tense and unhappy everyone’s been around here lately.” She turned on heel and left the office behind. Minerva, looking concerned, chased after Harry. After a minute, Janice rubbed her eyes in annoyance, before waving her wand.

“Amanda. Reach out to Amelia, let her know that I wish to see her _at once,_” Janice said in a low growl.

“Understood, Madame Spellman, right away,” Amanda’s voice came back.

Some time later, Amelia was seated across from her, and the two were sharing tea.

“Harry Potter was in my office just now,” Janice said quietly.

“He was?” Amelia asked, suddenly interested.

“_She_ was, yes,” Janice said with a snort. “She wanted to have her gender marker changed in her records, but apparently there’s some antiquated Wizengamot law from a century ago that blocks it. The only way she can do it is with a Wizengamot ruling.”

“Which, given who she is… not going to happen any time soon,” Amelia said, shaking her head. “That poor child, she just can’t catch a break, can she?”

“Indeed. But what I resent the most, Amy, is the fact that our mission here in the Department of Records is subservient to… whatever _nonsense hissy fit_ the Wizengamot deems to throw on any given day. Did you know I’ve had people from the Minister’s office lingering around here the last few weeks, trying to audit a bunch of nonsense around Miss Potter?”

“What?!” Amelia hissed.

“From what I could tell, they were trying to gain access to her Hogwarts records, among other things-”

“That sort of stuff is confidential– how _dare they_!”

“-probably trying to build a prosecutorial document to give her summons.”

“Summons for _what_?!”

“Anything they want. If they arrest her, then it’s a scandal and her image is damaged and their image is protected.”

“I wouldn’t permit a single one of my Aurors to follow such a scandalous, unlawful order-”

“Tell Gareth, Arthur and Percival that I’ve made up my mind. I’m in, but we can’t keep this under wraps forever,” Janice grumbled. “As it is, I believe Miss Potter might have some inkling as to what’s going on.”

“_What_?!” Amelia said. “How did she…”

“That, I don’t know, but she said something about the Ministry being quite unhappy and bitter towards one another as of late. She even said that she hoped the Ministry would change, but that it wouldn’t come easily.”

“_Fuck_,” Amelia hissed. “Okay, we’ll just have to be _very careful_. Very careful indeed. We’re not far from being ready to go, but we’re the better part of a year out from being _really_ ready to go.”

“I promise, we’ll take care of it,” Janice said, placing her hand on Amelia’s, and gently rubbing her knuckle. “I promised to stand by you in all things, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did,” Amelia said, her face turning pink. “I’m so relieved.”

“I just had to look after my girls, Amy, you know that,” Janice said quietly. “Without the DOR, this place would crumble. They depend on me to help them navigate turbulent times. With the Undersecretary to the Minister gone, our job should become much easier.”

“And Miss Potter’s job will get harder,” Amelia said, breathing through her nose.

“Who knows,” Janice said with a chuckle. “Maybe Umbridge’ll have an accident at Hogwarts.”

“One can only hope,” Amelia said, rolling her eyes.

…

“Harry…” Minerva started as they left the Department of Records, but Harry shook her head.

“I…” She began, but then closed her mouth with an audible _click_. She then opened her mouth again.

“I sort of expected that,” Harry said quietly. “The Ministry has it in for me, Mum. There’s really nothing they’re going to let me get away with if they can help it.”

Minerva frowned deeply as Harry straightened herself up, and looked up at her mother.

“Madame Deputy Headmistress. I am informing you that I do not intend to comply with the male uniform code this coming school term.”

Minerva blinked before she shook her head. “Such cheek,” She said, gently pinching her daughter’s cheek. “I suppose I shouldn’t expect anything less from the daughter of James Potter and Lily Evans. By all accounts, you should’ve levelled half of Hogwarts by now. I suppose I should be thankful Mister Black never got around to having a sprog of his own.”

“Another Fred and George Weasley-type person would kill you,” Harry said simply.

“Untrue. I got through seven years with your father, godfather and their friends. Messrs Weasley are merely an _annoyance_, rather than the bane of my very being.”

“And yet you agreed to be my godmother. Tch,” Harry said. “Confess, you thought their pranks were amusing.”

Minerva smiled some. “Well, _maybe some of the time_.”

Harry grinned back at her, and blinked in surprise. “Is that Professor Dumbledore?” She asked, wanting to be sure she hadn't cracked.

Minerva looked at where Harry was looking, and indeed noticed the genial Headmaster approaching them.

“Minerva, Harry, I’m glad I caught you,” Albus said. “First– Minerva, I am sad to say that my services on the Wizengamot are no longer required, and that I have been remanded to merely being Headmaster of Hogwarts, and that our new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor has been duly appointed as we expected.”

“I suppose we expected that, but that is indeed unfortunate,” Minerva said, quirking her mouth sourly.

“Secondly, I would like to ask that the two of you accompany me to the Department of Mysteries,” He said, folding his hands patiently.

“_The Department of Mysteries?_” Minerva echoed. “You mean the place that’s literally bound up in sixteen million oaths of secrecy?”

“The very same,” Albus said. “It is imperative for young Harry to learn about something important.”

Another elevator ride down, Harry found herself being escorted through the Department of Mysteries. Albus had hoped to meet with the head of the Department, but had been told rather sternly that Mr. Mullins was detained and unable to meet with him at this time, but another Unspeakable had decided to take them where they needed to go.

The place they had to go was indeed a tremendous room full of glowing orbs. As they entered it, the Unspeakable stopped them and cleared his throat.

“Do not touch _anything_.” His voice brooked no argument, and the group began to walk at an accelerated pace, before stopping at one of the racks.

On the end of one of the shelves, was one of the glowing orbs (which Harry recognized now as a scrying glass, one of the kind used in Divination), and saw the plate underneath it.

_SPT to APWBD - Dark Lord - Harry Potter_

Harry blinked in surprise, Minerva looked like she wanted to tear Albus’ throat out, and Albus merely looked calm, as he usually did.

“This, young Harry, is a prophecy that has haunted us for so many years,” Albus said simply. “On the last Friday of the year 1979, I was interviewing new candidates for the following school term, as our Divination professor had announced they were retiring. I was interviewing Sybill Trelawney, and I… must admit I was not impressed. It was as I was preparing to leave that she issued a prophecy. A very specific prophecy that turned out to apply to you, and set this entire mess into motion to begin with.”

Harry stared at Albus before looking at the prophecy. “Can I…?”

“As it is your prophecy, yes,” The Unspeakable spoke quietly.

Harry picked the ball up and felt a sudden surge of power, as the foggy haze of the orb cleared, revealing Professor Trelawney, her eyes rolled up into her head, shaking like a marionette as she spoke her prophecy.

_The one to vanish the Dark Lord approaches_

_Born to those who have thrice defied him_

_Born as the seventh month dies_

_and the Dark Lord will mark her as his equal_

_but she will have the power the Dark Lord knows not_

_and either must die at the hand of each other_

_for neither can live while the other survives_

_the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord_

_will be born as the seventh month dies_

The terrible voice of Trelawney in a trance vanished, and Harry staggered some, gripping her head. “Blistering _fuck_.”

“Harry James Potter! Watch your mouth!” Minerva scolded her daughter, who had the good grace to look a bit sheepish.

“Sorry, mum. Okay. So, let me unpack this nonsense right quick. A prophecy was made…. at the end of 1979, indicating that a child would be born at the end of July who could destroy the Dark Lord. Why was it me exactly? A lot of children were born on July 31st.”

“You’re forgetting two crucial parts. To parents who have defied him three times,” Albus said. “Also, you were marked as his equal,” Albus said, gesturing to Harry’s scar.

“Okay, that doesn’t quite answer all my questions,” Harry said. “Even if we limit the number of people who defied the Dark Lord thrice, how many kids does that leave?”

“Two,” Albus said simply. “You and Neville Longbottom.”

“Christ on a bicycle,” Harry murmured. “Also, I noticed a distinct set of _feminine pronouns_ in that prophecy. How on Earth-”

“Nobody knew what sex either Lily’s child or Alice’s child would be that Christmas,” Minerva cut in. “For all we knew, there was a pretty high chance you could be born either way. I remember us taking bets on that, in fact.”

“Yes, when you were born, I merely assumed the prophecy was an utter falsehood,” Albus said dryly. “But for precautions, we sent James, Lily, Alice and Frank into hiding, along with you and Neville of course,” Albus said. “We… _didn’t quite anticipate the end result of that_.”

“I should say. And… if Neville’s parents were in hiding as well, how were they…?” Harry asked.

“That is still something we’re not sure of. Alice and Frank never told us who their Secret Keeper was,” Minerva said with a frown. “Ultimately, the Dark Lord chose you… and then you turned out to be a lass anyway, so the prophecy _can only refer to you._ I guess?”

“Correct,” Albus said with a nod.

“Prophecies are some of the _dumbest_ shite I’ve ever seen,” Minerva grumbled.

“And, if I might ask, what’s this rubbish about a power the Dark Lord knows not?” Harry asked.

“I’ve always assumed it was something like love,” Albus said confidently. “The man hasn’t got a loving bone in his body.”

“Rubbish,” Harry said, rebuking the Headmaster. “Love is important, but it’s hardly the fundamental power the Dark Lord knows not. He knows what love _is_, he just sees it as unimportant. I’ve got quite a few things The Dark Lord knows not, if you get what I mean.”

“Right,” Albus said. “Well, either way.”

“D’ya think Voldy’s gonna want this?” Harry asked.

“It’s entirely possible,” Albus said. “What do you plan to do with it?”

“Take the prophecy out of it and put it back. Let the tosser think he’s got it when he hasn’t got it,” Harry said petulantly. “I assume this is your memory, Professor?”

“It would be indeed,” Albus said. He tapped his wand to the orb, and it dimmed as the silver mist of the Prophecy rose up and returned to his temple, where he blinked in recognition. “Much better.”

Harry placed the now inactive prophecy record on the shelf. “I’ve had enough of the Ministry for Magic for a day,” She proclaimed. “I’m going home to be a spoiled rotten birthday girl.”

Minerva rolled her eyes and followed her daughter out of the Department of Mysteries.


	12. The Life and Times of Hermione Granger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione is pensive about how she got to where she is now-- and she spends some much wanted time with her girlfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a fluff chapter, but I hope you'll enjoy it just the same.

Hermione Jean Granger was many things– from a very young age, she had possessed such a strong zeal for learning; Nothing satiated that thirst. Her parents had kept her close by– infantile illness and physical problems that had developed in her early years had prevented her from getting a social head start, and from there, things had sort of… gone downhill.

When primary school had begun for the first time, young Hermione–always precocious and willing, had thrown herself into it with all her might, wanting to be the best at what she did. Her first year of primary school– she had two teachers: The tall, melancholic and often unpleasant Mr. Thomas– and his teaching assistant, the wizened, leathery old Ms. Carter.

Ms. Carter had seen potential in Hermione and had encouraged her learning habits. Making her redo lines repeatedly until she could spell letters perfectly– submitting her little short stories written during writing exercises to national publications and encouraging her to always work her hardest and to never get lazy about it. Hermione had dutifully stuck to that, though she certainly suffered for it in other ways that weren’t directly corresponding to her academic prowess.

She resented Ms. Carter at first, but the older she got, the more she realized that the old woman was doing her best to _help_ her, in her own old traditional sort of way.

Through her years at primary school, she was always bullied. Mocked and harassed not only for who she was– but for the perception of her attitude of intelligence. The names stung– know-it-all, busybody, nosy… all sorts of not pleasant names.

As the years ticked by, under the supervision of “gifted” teachers, in the haze of fights, screaming matches and isolation from her peers, Hermione had withdrawn into herself and her fantasy worlds.

Stories of brave wizards doing battle against evil, stories of heroes and knights and dragons– the daydreams were the only respite she had against the bitterness she dealt with daily.

Then, like a bolt from the blue– she had discovered _she_ could do magic. Just like Matilda Wormwood, actually. It started so small, making books and small objects float to her hand, but she still had her temper issues a mile wide.

When she threw punches and kicks now, she willed whatever special power she had within herself to make it just a bit harder. It helped the thin little girl fight back against boys twice her size and do just as much to them as was done to her.

Then the tarnished-copper-haired Minerva McGonagall had showed up at her front door as Mummy was helping her nurse a bruise on her cheek.

Hogwarts– a school for people just like her, kids with magic. A world of magic and wonder that lay just beyond the line of sight to people like her parents– _Muggles,_ a term that Minerva McGonagall did not like very much, but accepted with the resigned capitulation of a person staring down thousands of years of tradition.

She had pledged herself to start a new leaf at Hogwarts, but she knew that there was still part of her that burned with anger and hatred– she had pushed it so deep down inside, but it still ate her up at times. There were _bullies_ everywhere, and it just seemed so terribly unfair.

When she had come to meet Harry– when she had come to love her girlfriend, she had let Harry’s natural wellspring of emotion and passion burn for the two of them, but she still felt only slightly listless at times.

She knew she loved Harry– she knew that she wanted to spend the rest of her days with her. But she still… wanted to do something about the bullies– the _evil_. She could be just like the witches and knights in her books.

Taking in a deep breath, Hermione let out a tired sigh.

It wasn’t Harry’s fault she felt this way. Harry had _never_ asked Hermione to give herself up in any way shape or form. Harry respected the strong independent mind Hermione had, and if _Hermione_ asked Harry to give something up, to run away– Harry would comply. She didn’t doubt Harry would resent it, and it may ruin them forever, but she knew Harry would do _anything_ for her, just as she would for her.

Nobody had ever quite _asked_ Hermione why she would ever want to be a Slytherin. She knew well enough now that the House had once harboured intense resentment and hatred for people like her– but Hermione took a sort of perverse pride in what she was.

Muggleborns were the future of all the wizards on Earth, no matter how much the pureblood and half-blood community wanted to protest and scream against into the abyss– the fact of the matter is that Muggles outnumbered wixen by a tremendous exponential factor. No matter how hard Voldemort, or the Ministry tried, they would never reassert the Way Things Used to Be.

She remembered the atomic drills in primary school… She remembered watching _Threads_ and _The Day After_. She had nightmares for weeks after seeing those movies. What was an _Avada Kedavra_, or a _Fiendfyre_ compared to the power of the atom? Entire cities, entire nations erased from the map in a matter of moments, nothing remaining but ash and soot.

The Muggle world was not a bunch of scared powerless fools with spears and bonfires to burn witches, and she almost _pitied_ all the Muggle-haters in the wixen community who didn’t seem to realize how hopelessly outclassed they were.

“Hermione, darling?” Her mother’s voice came, and Hermione looked up to see her mother standing nearby, an owl perched on her arm. “I just got a message. Professor McGonagall will be here soon to pick you up for Harry’s birthday party.”

Hermione’s face brightened considerably. “I’m coming, just give me a second,” She said quietly, a smile on her face.

…

As soon as she landed in the sitting room of Harry’s house, she noticed that quite a large number of people were present in the backyard– it seemed that Harry had deemed it a necessity to invite her friends from Slytherin and Gryffindor over as well– She thought she even saw Cho in the crowd.

Making her way outside, she grinned as she got close to Harry without her noticing. She gently swept the girl into her arms and held her tightly.

“_I’ve missed you,_” Hermione whispered in her ear, making Harry blush brightly. Harry laughed, before squirming in her grasp and turning to face her, looked at her with bright eyes and gave her a kiss.

“How’s the birthday girl doing?” Hermione asked, letting go of her girlfriend who grinned.

“This morning was kind of drab, but fun enough. I’ll tell you about it later,” Harry said, waving her hand. “In the meantime, we’re having fun! All the bad things can go take a long walk off a short cliff.”

Hermione nodded. That was sensible.

Hermione found herself rather stuck to Harry throughout the day. Not out of sheer choice, mind you– Harry merely wouldn’t let go of her, frequently groping her arse when nobody was looking, or wrapping her arm around her waist. The only times they broke apart was when conversations merely pulled them apart.

Though, Hermione had one hell of a time being social for once.

Fred and George had told her a bit about their plans– she didn’t necessarily approve of how flippant they were treating their education, but she knew that once a person found their calling, there was very little that could keep them from it. A joke shop was quite fitting for two people who… were always innovative and had happy hearts. They had even told her that Harry had invested quite a bit in getting their mail-order business off the ground, but they were running into problems gathering funds for a proper storefront.

She’d talked to Pansy and Neville briefly before Pansy had asked her to speak privately. Stepping away from the party some, Pansy had looked at her carefully and took a deep breath.

“Do you think Harry minds that I’m dating her ex-boyfriend? I know some people can be so petty and vain about it,” She asked, looking a bit anxious. She clearly liked Neville but didn’t want to ruin the “New Marauders” schtick they had going. Hermione eyed her girlfriend from across the room, who was dancing a bit with Draco and their cousin, Tonks.

“I don’t think Harry minds at all, actually,” Hermione said. “She’s never given me any indication that she’d have a problem with it. She liked Neville, sure, but their relationship didn’t last all that long. It’d be unusually uncharacteristic of her to care that much about who you two date. Besides, haven’t you two been seeing each other since the Yule Ball?”

“We… sorta got started then?” Neville offered, before grimacing. “It was sort of a hasty matchup, but we found we had quite a lot in common once I got past my nerves.”

“He’s a sweet teddy bear of a man,” Pansy cooed. “He’s just a nervous mess, but I can hardly blame him for that. But we’re working through that, aren’t we, Nev?”

“Yeah,” Neville said wryly. “Pansy’s really helped me come to terms with a lot of the… stuff that I’ve gone through.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear it,” Hermione said brightly. “You two deserve to be happy. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go get some time in with my girlfriend.”

Hermione crossed the area and swept Harry up once more into a dance, causing Harry to giggle madly as they barely kept in tune– a paltry imitation of their performance at the Yule Ball, but Hermione didn’t care.

Having Harry in her arms and hearing her squeal with laughter was worth it, every time.

…

Harry was _always_ so accommodating to her. Hermione hadn’t been able to get a tiny sort of _thing_ out of her head since it had happened, and now she was patiently waiting, twiddling her thumbs, for Harry to return from a hot shower. Her head shot up at the sound of running water being cut off. Her trepidation and eagerness were making her even more jittery.

The door suddenly opened, and Hermione’s face split into a slight smile at what was before her– the perfect clone of herself.

When Hermione had approached the subject with Harry, she’d been utterly mortified at how much she liked the idea?

Of… you know, being intimate with herself?

Harry had simply laughed and told her that whatever she wanted she could have, and that stuff like that was _so easy_. Besides, Harry reasoned, one of the benefits of being a Metamorphmagi was being able to do kinky things like that. No shame.

“So, how close did I get?” Harry said, posing, flashing a bright smile at Hermione. “I’ve only ever seen you truly starkers like, once or twice– so I’m a little out of practice on that.”

“Close enough, Harry, close enough,” Hermione said, voice low. “Now _come here,_”

Harry plopped down on the bed next to her, and Hermione quickly snaked her arms around Harry’s waist. “Are you sure you don’t mind doing this for me?”

“Your appearance and the like don’t make me want to claw my eyes out like being a boy does,” Harry said, smirking. “I think I can manage being your body double for a bit.”

Hermione lowered her head and kissed Harry on the neck. She had a small confession to make–she’d been using her thirst for knowledge to learn a bit about sex. Of course, it had involved sneaking women’s magazines and the like from her mother, but she’d gotten a much better idea of how to pleasure someone than the last time she and Harry had been intimate.

“Ready, love?” Hermione asked carefully, and Harry looked back at her with something Hermione could only place as lust in her eyes, nodded mutely.

Oh, how much Hermione _loved_ her life.

…

It was morning before Hermione knew it, the annoying ball of light beaming through Harry’s window. After grumpily letting go of the dim hope of being able to get back to sleep, she looked down at the girl curled up into her, and a happy smile crossed her face. She’d put her new tactics to work, and Harry had melted like butter under her ministrations.

She gently ran her finger down Harry’s hip and thigh, hoping to entice Harry to wake up.

After a couple minutes of doing that, Harry let out a small snort and her eyes opened, having gone back to their natural green. She glanced up at Hermione and a smile crossed her lips.

“G’mornin,” Harry said with a yawn. “Last night was _wonderful_.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” Hermione said.

“More than enjoyed myself, I bloody well had a ball,” Harry said with a grin. “Best birthday present a girl could ask for.”

Hermione watched as Harry rocked herself out of bed and stretched, her bare arse displayed to the world. She, frankly, couldn’t keep her eyes off it.

Harry noticed her fascination and looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “Enjoying the sight of your own arse, Miss Granger?”

Hermione threw her pillow at Harry. “Prat!”

Harry caught it and tossed it back onto the bed. She closed her eyes and Hermione watched as she shimmered some, and in a blink of an eye, Harry was back to herself– but with an exception. Harry had reclaimed her own trademark hair, though now it was a shade of ginger instead of Hermione’s honey-brown, or Harry’s jet black. Also, was she slightly taller now?

“Oh,” Harry said, looking in the mirror with a grin. “I rather like that! I think I’ll leave this on for a while. Come on, then, I need to shower and I’m drafting you to wash my back.”

…

Hermione giggled in amusement as Harry slid down the staircase, landing deftly on her feet with a grin.

“You’re such a show-off,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes. Her girlfriend stuck her tongue out at her in response, and she watched Harry jovially float through the room, ambushing her godfather with a hug. Sirius’ face was etched with surprise before it settled into a bright smile.

“You’re positively radiant today, Harry. Enjoy your birthday, I take it?” Sirius asked.

“More than you know,” Harry said playfully.

“I like your hair,” Sirius said. “Almost reminds me of Lily,”

“I imagine it does,” Harry said, wriggling her nose. “Though sometimes I think it makes me look like a lost Weasley.”

Sirius snorted. “The genes are strong, that much is obvious– between Molly’s family and Arthur’s family, there’s no doubt all their kids popped out with orange hair. It’s like the Black family and dark hair, something about it passes down the family tree.”

Harry snorted. “My daughter’s gonna be a redhead like my Mum was,” She said plainly.

_Wait what_

Hermione froze in place and stared at Harry with wide eyes. Harry glanced at her and smiled, winking.

_Daughter? Did Harry want to have kids?_

An image flashed in Hermione’s mind– her pregnant, staying at home while Harry went out and kicked arse and took names. It wasn’t ideal, and Hermione wasn’t sure she wanted to sacrifice a career to become a stay-at-home mother. Though, if she knew Harry…

The image was replaced with a pregnant Harry, staring at her with love in her eyes and a wry grin on her face. Harry _would_ give up everything for her, wouldn’t she? She couldn’t do that to her.

Another image crossed her mind, Harry and Hermione surrounded by a gaggle of brown and redheaded children, all with Harry’s shimmering green eyes.

Hermione’s head began to swim, and she felt the sudden urge to sit down. She staggered down into one of the loveseats, her face ashen and eyes wide. Harry came over to her, concern on her face.

“Are you alright, Mia?” Harry asked, gently taking her hand.

“Oh, I’m fine,” Hermione said, waving Harry off. “It just… that comment sort of caught me by surprise. I didn’t think you would ever want a family like that,”

“I’m sorry, that was rude of me,” Harry said, blushing. “It’s a relatively new thing I’ve been thinking about. I’ll tell you more about it later, but, trust me, that’s not really something we need to think about any time soon. I’m in no rush to do anything like that.”

“My sweet,” Hermione said, kissing Harry’s knuckles. “It was not rude of you at all,”

“First, I want to survive to adulthood,” Harry said wryly. “Then we can talk about all the important things.”

“Fair enough,” Hermione said. “Nothing will change how much I love you, though.”

“I know,” Harry said, kissing Hermione’s forehead.

…

“You’re not going to turn evil, Harry! Trust me, you won’t,” Hermione said, as she wagged her finger. “There’s no shame in being slightly scared of power and all that sort of thing, but… I think you’re worrying far too much.”

“Thanks for your vote of confidence,” Harry said, looking pensive. “What about the other part?”

“Oh, she was _adorable_,” Hermione said, laughing some. “I’m glad you showed that to me, that was too cute. But, in all seriousness, don’t worry so much about that. Trust me, nothing about your personality… makes me think you’d be an evil person like that.”

Hermione looked up at the ceiling and then flopped back on Harry’s bed. “Could I believe you being willing to take a life? Perhaps so,” She said, gesturing broadly. “But that’s not irretrievably evil if it’s done in self-defence or for survival. If you went out and hunted people down like the Dark Lord did, then yeah, maybe I’d see the argument. But otherwise, mmmm, no.”

“Okay, fair enough,” Harry said, sighing. “It’s just not something I terribly like to think about. Being _like him,_”

“You’re nothing like him,” Hermione said primly. “You actually have a sense of morality and justice, which he doesn’t. You’re kind, brilliant and sweet– which, very clearly, he isn’t. You’re your own person, and you’re a _good person_, Harry. Don’t sell yourself short, okay?”

They sat there in silence a bit longer.

“Hermione?” Harry asked quietly.

She glanced over at her girlfriend who looked like she was thinking a lot about things. “I’ve been thinking about it– there’s still so much we don’t know about each other. I mean, I know a bit about you, from just the sheer conversations we’ve had over the years, but still. There’s a lot that I just… don’t know?”

Hermione didn’t say anything at first before nodding. “You’re quite right, Harry. How about we do this– I’ll ask you a question, you ask me a question, and we’ll slowly build up from there?”

“Alright,” Harry said, before furrowing her brow.

“Do you know my favourite colour?” Hermione asked, looking at her.

“Red,” Harry said almost immediately. “The rare times I see you with your nails painted, you wear red polish. You wear red in most of your outfits outside of Hogwarts– the only reason you don’t wear red there is because it clashes with the green and silver on our uniforms.”

Hermione blinked.

“Okay,” She said, nodding. “Yours, funnily enough, is green. It kinda fits with your eyes and us being in Slytherin. I don’t know _why_ your favourite colour is green.”

“It’s the colour of… nature, I guess,” Harry said with a wry smile on her face. “It reminds me of when I was a kid.”

“What’s your favourite meal?” Harry asked.

“I’m quite partial to coq au vin,” Hermione said. “It’s something I’ve had a few times, mostly when Mum and Dad take me to France on holiday. What’s yours?”

“Well, truth be told, I don’t eat very heavy,” Harry said. “Because of… the stuff that went on when I was really little, I was on nutrition potions for years, and I wasn’t allowed to eat very heavy meals as a result–I used to have a proper Scottish breakfast on my birthday, but other than that, not much.”

She heard Harry sigh. “My favourite meal is probably a hardy stew of some kind. I’m quite partial to beef stew, but I’ve also found I like chicken stew as well. Anything warm and hearty makes me happy. Though, one thing I _do_ hate is pumpkin juice. That stuff is foul. I always drink apple juice instead, if I have a choice.”

“Oh, I know right? I don’t know what it is with wix, but that stuff is right foul,” Hermione said, nodding. “I’ve actually wondered about why that’s such a common drink choice.”

“If I had to wager,” Harry said idly. “I’d put my money in crop blight. That or they just like sticking to Muggle stereotypes.”

Hermione laughed. “I wouldn’t say that around purebloods, they might pop a vein! But dear God, how many old traditions do they stick to because it’s easy? Parchment and quills instead of pens and notebook paper? Utter madness!”

“I’ve been to Macedonia, it’s not like that there, we’re lagging behind everyone else,” Harry said, shaking her head. “Did you hear? The Ministry’s put their own person into the Defence position this year.”

“What?!” Hermione said, looking at her girlfriend in alarm. How could they appoint someone? Wasn’t that the Headmaster’s right? Who did they appoint? She hoped it was an Auror…

“Minister Fudge’s Senior Undersecretary, Dolores Umbridge,” Harry said, closing her eyes. “Utterly unqualified for the job, according to Mum.”

Hermione once again _cursed_ the so-called curse on the DADA position. She had a bad enough time keeping up with the class as it was thanks to missing the entire year in second year, but now she had to deal with a woman who was most likely eminently _unqualified_ to teach, taking the position? She’d rather go through another year with Gilderoy Lockhart. This was an OWL year! How could _they do this to her!_

“Dumbledore thinks they’re trying to throw him out of Hogwarts,” Harry said idly, crossing the room and sitting down at her desk, holding her arms in annoyance. “I’m going to hold off until I see her class for myself, but something tells me she’s going to parrot the party line. They’re still not in the mood to admit anybody like the Death Eaters are back and willing to reign hell over everything.”

Hermione huffed. The inter-House study league that Harry and her had pieced together would do wonderfully, but she could see something in Harry’s mind. Seeds were planted of something much greater. Hermione really liked it when Harry showed her ambition like that.

“I just don’t _trust_ the Ministry,” Harry said. “I doubt they’d even _accept_ a petition to change my gender, they’re gunning for me for telling the truth, and I just… _don’t know what’s going to happen next,_” Her voice was getting a bit manic, and Hermione quickly sprang to her feet to comfort Harry. She really wished she could see into her mind to know how to soothe her fears.

“We’ll survive,” Hermione reassured her. “We’ve always survived, and we will survive the Ministry trying to do us in like this.”

“I know, I just… I don’t _want_ it,” Harry said, wrinkling her nose in disgust. Hermione wrapped her in her arms and hugged her tightly.

“I’ll always be there for you, Harry,” Hermione murmured into Harry’s shoulder. “I promise.”


	13. Order of the Phoenix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry attends her first meeting of the Order of the Phoenix; the teenagers discuss politics and self-esteem issues; the adults are adulting; and why is Perinelle Flamel attending an Order meeting? Questions to be answered.

With a _pop_, Harry landed on her feet– she was perched on a hill overlooking an empty field, just inside the treelines. Her mother, Hermione, Draco and Narcissa were with her. As soon as she’d materialized from apparating, she felt a presence nearby. Turning her head, she noticed Remus Lupin emerging from the same forest, a smile on his face.

“Good to see you all,” Remus said. He reached into his robe pocket and handed a strip of parchment to Harry.

_The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is located at Riverend Manor_

Harry blinked in shock as a rather shabby-looking estate appeared in front of her. It looked like it had _once_ been a grand estate, but had fallen into disrepair over a certain number of years. She idly wondered if her grandparents’ house looked just as shabby as this place did. Vines were growing all over the front of the manor, the windows looked sealed shut from dust, and the paint was peeling off in spades.

“We haven’t had enough manpower to start fixing it,” Remus said wryly. “It’s mostly an interim headquarters for now. Let’s get this taken care of so I can keep Sirius from committing vandalism on his own house.”

He took the parchment from Harry and handed it around, and one by one, each member of her party began to see the large manor.

“Sirius must be tearing his hair out,” Minerva said wryly as she looked upon the manor. “I bet he wants to gut this place and redo it from scratch?”

“Understatement of the year,” Remus said with a grin. “But he’s butting heads with Molly. She always seems to think she’s the queen of the household, no matter what household she’s in.”

“I’m surprised Sirius hasn’t had a screaming match with her yet,” Rolanda said. “He was more than willing to go toe-to-toe with me over interior design when we were expanding the Cottage.”

“Molly’s twice your size, love, and she’s a former Beater, not a Seeker,” Minerva said. “I think he’s rather terrified of her and her temper.”

“She _does_ still have the record on seasonal injuries inflicted,” Rolanda said, tapping her finger to her chin. “But I think once you and I are there, he’ll be a bit more confident around her. She hasn’t got a broomstick or a Bludger here, I hope.”

The party proceeded towards the building, where the bellows of a screaming match could be heard.

“THIS IS MY HOUSE, MOLLY! I AM THE ONE WHO IS GOING TO DECIDE THESE THINGS!” Sirius’ voice carried like a thunderclap, and Harry opened the frontdoor to see her godfather, redfaced, staring down an equally redfaced Molly Weasley. They seemed to be having a spat over… _flooring?_

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything?” Harry offered wanly, and Sirius shook his head.

“Just a small dispute between Molly and I,” Sirius said tersely. “She wants to lay down carpeting in the sitting room, I want laminate flooring.”

Harry blinked. “I’m not getting involved in this,” She said, shaking her head.

“Molly, don’t yell at the man– it _is_ his house, isn’t it?” Remus said, stepping through the door behind Harry. “If anything, the only people who get a vote other than him are Andromeda and Narcissa. We’re merely guests right now,” He offered.

Molly huffed. “Fine,” She muttered, before returning to the kitchen area.

Minerva nudged Harry, before speaking in a low voice. “I’ll come collect you when we’re ready to start the meeting. In the meantime, spend some time with your friends,”

Sirius, who overhead the conversation, gave a nod. “Your room is actually upstairs, first door on the left.”

Harry, Hermione and Draco climbed the stairs and found their way to Harry’s room. Opening the door, Harry let out a low whistle. It was _gorgeous_. The room was rather dark in colour, but with strong silver and green accents (Harry idly wondered if she was going to be stuck with those two colours as accents the rest of her life).

“Is anybody else feeling a bit… unsure about next term?” Harry said, sitting on her bed. “It just feels like a remarkably bad time in the making, given the Ministry’s anointed representative taking the DADA position.”

“We’ll just have to be extra focused with our plans,” Draco said with a wry grin. “After all, it’ll simply be a study group?”

“Yeah, but at what point does everyone in the group get targeted for associating with me? That’s what the Ministry wants– they want to cut me off and isolate me from everyone.”

“Then we’ll do it in secrecy when nobody’s looking,” Hermione said with a snort. “The Knights of Slytherin, Knights of Gryffindor– merge them together to form some organization with the explicit goal of teaching students to nonviolently resist unjust laws.”

Harry blinked. They could use the Chamber of Secrets, couldn’t they? The only rub would be getting access, but… not entirely an impossible solution.

“What about the Chamber?” Harry offered. “It’s got a very good natural defense– you know, Fatimah and all, plus the only people who can get into it is me and Ginny Weasley. She could be a sort of secret-keeper for Gryffindor, and I could be it for Slytherin!”

“That’s… a pretty good idea,” Hermione said. “What if we have to make a quick escape? There’s only two exits.”

“More than that– there’s tons of tunnels to the outside for Fatimah to hunt. One of them, I know for a fact, goes to the Forbidden Forest– Dumbledore, Hagrid and I cleared it in second year to allow for her to hunt Acromantula,” Harry said with a grin. “In case of an emergency, it wouldn’t be hard to flee into the Forbidden Forest, where it’d be damn near impossible to trace anybody.”

“What about Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs?” Draco asked. “Do we include them?”

“No,” Harry said with a definitive shake of her head. “I don’t trust enough of them. With Cho having graduated, I can’t think of a single Ravenclaw I trust other than Luna Lovegood– similarly, Hufflepuffs, the only one I really trust is Susan Bones, but her Mum is head of the DMLE and I’d rather not invite that kind of a crackdown, nor do I want people at the Ministry to be on the hotseat because they’re aligned with me.”

“What about the Weasleys, then? Percy is Head of the DIMC and Arthur is in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office?” Hermione asked.

“Ron’s told me that neither one is very loyal to the Minister,” Draco said with a sniff. “Percy’s been up to his eyeballs in work for the better part of a year and is so strung out on Pepper-Up that he can barely function on a day-to-day basis. Arthur, on the other hand, doesn’t like Fudge much.”

The sound of knocking on the door interrupted their musing. The door opened to reveal a gaggle of redheads.

“Harry! I didn’t know you wanted to join our family that badly,” Fred commented as he walked through the door.

“Shut up, you prat,” Harry said, smirking. “I’ll have you know my _mother_ was a redhead, your lot don’t have the exclusive rights to ginger hair. Either way, it’ll be back to normal by September.”

“Anyway, right on time, we were just talking about you lot,” Harry said, gesturing broadly for them to come in. Ron, Ginny, Fred and George took up positions in various parts of the room. “We were just talking about how Percy and your dad are… sort of on the outs with the Minister.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Ron said, rubbing his forehead. “Percy’s well-intending, but he’s distanced himself from the rest of us for some reason– Dad’s been spending more time at the office than ever. Something incredibly fishy is going on, and none of us know what.”

“Well,” Fred began, before glancing at George.

“We might’ve overhead something,” George said.

“What?” Harry said, leaning in and looking intently at the twins.

“Dad had Neville’s grandmother over the other day,” George said. “We were testing out our new Extendable Eavesdropping Ears and we overheard bits and pieces of their conversation,”

“Something about a pact–involving the Ministry,” Fred finished for his twin.

“Neville’s grandmother? Augusta Longbottom, right?” Draco asked. “She’s on the Wizengamot. The Longbottoms still have a seat there, and she’s regent until Neville becomes an adult.”

He looked thoughtful. “I’ll be honest,” He said. “I don’t remember everything my Father used to teach me about politics, but the bulk of the Wizengamot is still made up of families that bought or were given seats for services rendered. But the Longbottoms… I think they’re unaligned with Dumbledore’s lot.”

“How many others are there?” Harry asked, raising her eyebrow.

“Well, the Ministry itself holds a bulwark, pretty much every major department head, the Undersecretary, Minister himself and close advisors are all appointed to their seats, but the factions outside of that…”

“You can safely assume most, if not all of the Sacred Twenty-Eight are going to be members of the Pureblood faction,” Draco said, shifting in his seat. “But given the Gaunts, Malfoys, Crouches, and Lestranges are all effectively extinct, that group has shrunk. But even within the Sacred Twenty-Eight, there were families who did not hold to pureblood supremacy– like the Abbots, Weasleys and Ollivanders.”

“What rubbish, the Sacred Twenty-Eight,” Hermione said, shaking her head. “As if there’s not a drop of Muggle blood in any of you.”

“I don’t disagree,” Draco said with a wry smile. “Even then, that list was published 60 years ago, and intentionally excluded the Potters, who were, until Harry’s birth, a pureblood family, because Theo’s grandfather hated Henry Potter. Henry was Minister for Magic back then.”

“If that’s true, why don’t I have a Wizengamot seat?” Harry asked, blinking in surprise.

“I don’t know,” Draco said. “But the Potters haven’t had a seat on the Wizengamot in the last two decades at least.”

He shook his head. “We’re going off the point,” He said, rolling his eyes. “Neville’s gran is the leader of the centrist coalition. She, along with the Greengrasses, Abbots and Parkinsons largely vote their conscience, and don’t align to one particular group. As to why Mr. Weasley would be courting support from Madame Longbottom, that I don’t know– the Weasleys haven’t had a seat on the Wizengamot in years either, they lost theirs long before the Potters ever did.”

“Yeah,” Ron said. “Dad told us once that his granddad ran up some bad debt and had to sell his seat to pay it off. It sorta tore the family apart for a time.”

“If your Dad wanted support in the Wizengamot, why wouldn’t he approach Dumbledore’s group?” Hermione asked, looking at the Weasleys.

“Dumbledore is a liability,” Draco interjected. “He’s been basically stripped of all his honours– they can’t strip him of his _seat_ because that sets a terrible precedence, but they can definitely strip him of all his positions outside of that and render him powerless. The ‘Light’ faction, so to speak, is fractured now, and has to look to _someone_ for support.”

“Maybe they’ve already found someone to support?” Fred asked.

“Like a certain Slytherin girl,” George said. “Maybe that’s what Dad’s doing– for Dumbledore and the Order. If they won’t support _him_, maybe they’ll back the Girl-Who-Lived.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ on a bike,” Harry murmured. “Me? Anywhere near politics? I’d sooner throw myself in front of a bus.”

“You’re the least ambitious Slytherin ever,” Draco said, rolling his eyes.

“Wrong,” Harry said with a smug grin. “I have plenty of ambition. I’m going to be Headmistress of Hogwarts some day, and I’ll revolutionize the way wixen children are taught across these fair isles. The best sort of change starts with the children, not with the adults in politics. I’ll corrupt them with the idea of racial equality that they’ll force the world to change with them. It’s all part of my master plan.”

“Okay, I take it back. You’re the most Slytherin Slytherin I’ve ever met,” Draco said, with a wry grin. “But what if they _do_ decide to follow you?”

“I’m not a politician; If anything, I’m more of a fighter,” Harry said wryly. “I don’t know what I’d do then. I suppose anything’s better than them turning to Minister Fudge or the pureblood supremacists for aid.”

“The best we can do is let things keep evolving, and just keep our ears open,” Ginny piped up. “We can sit and conjure up ideas of what’s going on, but I doubt we’ll figure it out.”

“Ginny’s right– though something _fishy_ is going on, but we’ll never know until it happens, so let’s just focus on Hogwarts for now,” Harry said. She glanced at Ron. “Ronald, have you had any luck with gathering support for the Knights?”

“I’m reluctant to let people know about our planned… _thing_. I don’t think I can trust folks like Seamus or Cormac,” Ron admitted. “But Neville’s on board, so is Lee, Dean, Katie, Alicia and a few others.”

“Make sure they keep their ruddy mouths shut. I’m not trying to have the Ministry gunning for us on day one,” Harry said, furrowing her eyebrows.

“Of course, your Majesty,” Ron said, bowing his head and bowing dramatically.

“Git,” Harry said, rolling her eyes.

After a couple hours of batting back and forth and talking about various strategies for the next term in terms of coordinating various people at Hogwarts and to work on their mutual aid society, another knock on the door signified the arrival of a new person. This time, it was one of Harry’s mothers.

“Harry,” Minerva said, poking her head in. “Come on, meeting’ll be starting here in a few minutes. You too, Hermione, Draco,”

“What about this lot?” Harry asked, gesturing to the Weasleys.

“Mum won’t let us participate,” Fred said, frowning. “She says we’re too young, nevermind George and I are already seventeen.”

“Believe me,” Minerva said, shaking her head. “Given how much Harry relies on all of you for support, I would love nothing more than to pidgeonhole Molly into complying. As it is, she’s likely to blow her lid when she hears these three are being allowed to join in. I’m sure Harry will fill you in with information later anyway.”

With that, Minerva escorted the three of them downstairs. Upon entering the dining room, Harry noticed Professor Dumbledore going over some scripts of parchment while conversing quietly with Professor Snape and someone else who she didn’t quite recognize. It was a very beautiful woman in her middle age, long brown hair with flecks of grey in it, a confident smile on her face.

“Ah, dears, dinner isn’t going to be ready until after the meeting, you should probably head back up stairs,” Molly said, noticing the three teenagers standing in the doorway with Minerva.

“They’ll be joining us this evening, Molly,” Minerva said airily as she took a seat.

“W-What? They’re _only children!_ For Merlin’s sake, Minerva, Harry’s only a child! He’s 15!”

“_She_ is 15,” Minerva said clearly, emphasizing the feminine pronoun. “_She_ is also the only one in this room who has successfully won a duel against Voldemort in their lifetime– no offense, Albus,”

“None taken,” Albus said with a smile, winking at Harry.

“She’s also _my_ daughter and _I_ will decide what she may or may not attend. Am I clear, Mrs. Weasley?” Minerva said, glaring at Molly intensely.

“But what about the other two? Surely they-”

“He has my permission to be here, Molly,” Narcissa interjected, eyebrow raised. “And as for Hermione, well… her parents are Muggles, so if there’s anybody here who can tell her what to do, it’s Sirius as owner of this property, Albus as leader of the Order, or Minerva, as her current magical caretaker.”

Molly looked chastened, but unhappy as she grumbled her way to a seat. The three teenagers took their place at the table, which was joined by Sirius, Bill Weasley, Charlie Weasley, Professor Snape as well as a bunch of other people. After they were settled down, Albus cleared his throat. “Thank you all for coming this evening,” He began.

“As you may or may not know at this time, the Ministry for Magic has begun the ever-gradual process of stripping me of my influence in our community–first with the loss of my position within the Wizengamot, and subsequently the appointment of Undersecretary Dolores Umbridge to the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts. I expect that within the coming term year, I will be replaced and/or removed from my position.”

Murmuring erupted in the room and Albus motioned for quiet.

“I am pleased to report, however, that our young Harry Potter has been organizing a mutual aid society for Gryffindor and Slytherin students with the intent of protecting them from any consequence of this egregious violation of our autonomy. Harry, would you like to explain a bit more?” Albus offered, looking at Harry.

She blinked in surprise, but nodded in agreement. Standing up, she took a few moments to gather her thoughts.

“Something I noticed at the end of last term was that the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were energized by the accusations made against me by the Daily Prophet– that I had cheated in the Triwizard Tournament, and that Voldemort’s return-” Harry began, ignoring the fearful murmurs in the room. “-was a lie concocted by a demented attention-seeking brat. They threatened my friends, they attacked my friends, and I came to the realization that something must be done to protect the House of Slytherin and House of Gryffindor from attack by people who are… less than charitable in their view of me. So I formed the Knights of Slytherin, and contracted Ronald Weasley to form the Knights of Gryffindor. Our intent is to provide a study group and defense organization in lieu of what will likely be another wasted year of Defense,”

“This organization has my unofficial blessing,” Minerva quickly spoke up.

“As well as mine,” Severus smoothly interjected.

“Hopefully that will keep Hogwarts mostly from boiling over into a vector for the Ministry to undermine us,” Albus said. “Thank you, Harry.”

Harry sat back down and Albus looked through his papers. “We’ve noticed Death Eater movements in Western Wales, but the Ministry response to the situation has been anemic at best. As you may have noticed, none of our usual Ministry-employed contacts and allies are present,” Albus said, and Harry indeed noticed that.

“I have been informed by Kingsley and Alastor that recent developments at the Ministry have meant they had to be very careful about associating with me, lest they invite… unwarranted attention. But I have been assured that the DMLE, at the very least, takes these reports as seriously as we do, but their hands are sort of tied at the moment.”

“What are we expected to do then, Albus? Simply wait around to be done in by the Death Eaters?” Minerva asked, flabbergasted. “Why can’t the Aurors do their jobs?”

“Politics, my dear Minerva– what else?” Albus offered simply. “And with Severus’ abandonment of his double agency, there is very little we have in terms of central intelligence about the Dark Lord’s inner circle.”

“It was either that or allow Miss Granger to meet an untimely demise. Potter couldn’t do three things at once,” Snape said with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m not blaming you for anything, Severus,” Albus said, shaking his head. “We’re just in a bit of a bad position.”

“Voldemort is probably still quite a ways from being able to mobilize a force,” Harry piped up. “The people he had in the graveyard were mostly the people still faithful to him who weren’t in prison. It’s very likely he’s going to want to build up his strength first before he does anything else. If I had to be _completely_ honest, the Ministry’s probably a bigger threat right now.”

Everyone looked at her strangely for saying that, but Harry puffed herself up and cast a scouring glance around the room.

“During the last war, Voldemort had allies, right? All the creatures we stepped on along the way,” She said. “So it stands to reason that, well, he’d want to recruit a bunch of those, and build up his forces again. A lot of Death Eaters were killed when the Ministry tried to have them all executed– and many more are still rotting away. He’s going to attempt a breakout of Azkaban first– if Sirius could do it alone, then what’s stopping an army?”

“Deme-” somebody started, but stopped immediately afterwards. It had not gone without notice by many that the Ministry’s dutiful protectors of Azkaban had all been destroyed by Harry after they’d attacked her during her third year at Hogwarts. Harry still didn’t understand why she wasn’t questioned about it, but she was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“That is a disturbingly plausible strategy, Albus,” Severus said, glancing at the elderly headmaster. “I doubt we’ll be able to stop a mass outbreak at Azkaban, but perhaps we could work to prevent him from gaining allies among the oppressed creature classes. Since the Order currently has a bad relationship with the Ministry, it stands to reason that they’d be more willing to listen to your suggestions.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have a good relationship with many of these communities. The centaurs, perhaps, merely because I’ve tried to work with them on the boundaries of the Forbidden Forest.”

“Most werewolves _aren’t_ Fenrir Greyback,” Remus said, folding his arms. “They’re afraid of him, sure, but his pack isn’t nearly the largest. If we can prove that there will be changes, we can sway some packs to our side.”

Albus nodded, seemingly pleased by something. “That should do it for today, everyone. We’ll meet again in a couple weeks unless something urgent should come up. Harry, would you and your friends please remain behind?”

As the adults filtered out to do their various things, Harry glanced at those who were remaining– the woman, Snape, Dumbledore and Minerva.

“Harry, I would like to impress upon you the urgency of maintaining some semblence of peace this year,” Dumbledore began. “The Ministry is looking for any literal reason to unseat me as Headmaster. You have been given such grand leniency over the past five years when it comes to curfew, being out of bed after hours; and you’ve had the run of the castle since you were a child. Please, if at all possible, keep your organization as quiet as you possibly can.”

“I’ll do my best, sir,” Harry said, bowing her head in acknowledgement. “I’m hopin’ things don’t escalate to the point where it’s that serious, but I’m going to do what I can do to keep as much peace as I can.”

“Good,” Dumbledore said with a sigh. “As well, my dear friend Perinelle Flamel has agreed to take up a position at Hogwarts as our Alchemy professor.”

“Flamel?” Hermione said with a gasp.

“My darling husband,” Perinelle said with a grin. “Your young Harry there, she kept my husband’s Philosopher’s Stone safe from the Dark Lord oh, four years ago, was it? It has been some time for the two of us to get our affairs into order, but when Albus came with a small request for us, I volunteered to take up the position.”

“In fact,” Perinelle said. “I’ve been speaking with Albus and he seems to think the three of you would make promising young candidates for my alchemy course. Typically Hogwarts offers it as a sixth and seventh year elective when demand is enough, but you three have very high scores in Transfiguration and I’ve been told our young Miss Potter is quite gifted with a wand. This class would replace History of Magic on your schedules, but…”

“I haven’t taken History of Magic in ages,” Harry admitted.

“I haven’t learned anything useful in that class,” Hermione admitted, looking guilty. “I’m always attentive but it’s… _so very dry_…”

“That’s my Mia,” Harry said, rolling her eyes. “Studious to a fault.”

“Not all of us are prodigal children, _Jamie_.”

“Oi, who gave you permission to call me that,” Harry said, face reddening.

“You’re the one who came up with _Mia_,” Hermione said, grinning back at Harry.

Harry glared at her, but there was little heat behind it. “Brat,” She muttered.

“Prat,” Hermione retorted, a playful grin on her face.

“What sort of things would we be learning?” Draco cut in to cover up the bickering couple’s playful ribbing.

“Alchemy is sort of like a natural extension, and the marriage of two schools of thought– Transfiguration, and potions. By combining the two in new and intrepid ways, we can learn a large number of new things, such as ways to cure disease, stop death, or transmute things into silver and gold, among many other things, you’ll learn the fundamentals, but it won’t be long before we move on into more complex things. Since you three will likely be my only students, we can move as fast as you want,” Perinelle said, smiling confidently at the trio.

The three looked at each other before nodding their assent.

“I’ll ensure they’re on your schedules,” Perinelle said with a smile. “And I will see you on September 1st.”

With that, Perinelle departed, and Albus looked over the moon.

“Wonderful! You’ll learn plenty from her, while her husband is more famous for his immortality, she isn’t a slouch in the alchemal arts either. I should hope that you three will do your absolute best in her class.”

“Of course, sir,” Harry said for the group. “We wouldn’t imagine doing it any other way.”

Standing up, the trio made their way back upstairs to Harry’s bedroom, where the Weasley kids were waiting.

“The meeting wasn’t exactly loaded with information,” Harry said as soon as she’d shut the door behind her. She plopped down on Hermione’s lap and looked at the assembled group. “It was mostly them talking about how the Ministry’s acting really weird, and the Aurors have their hands tied, so the Death Eaters are sort of running rampant in areas that aren’t well-populated. Oh yeah, and Dumbledore’s hired Nicholas Flamel’s wife to teach Alchemy this year.”

“_Alchemy_?” Ron asked, whistling. “That’s an advanced subject, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but she invited Draco, Hermione and I to take it. My guess would be she did it at Dumbledore’s behest to teach us some useful information that might come in handy later, or maybe he just thinks we’d enjoy it.”

“I wonder why he didn’t offer it to any of us,” Ron said, looking a bit put off.

“Love,” Draco said. “No offense, but you haven’t got exactly stellar scores in Potions _or_ Transfiguration. You’re far more of an Astronomy person than you are anything else.”

“Yeah, you’re a natural at Astronomy,” Harry said with a nod.

“That class doesn’t matter much– the rest of them, I’m not nearly as good as you lot,” Ron said.

“Ronald,” Hermione interjected. “By all accounts, the three of us are rather… _unusual_. I’ve got an eidetic memory, Harry has powers above what any mere mortal can explain in detail, and Draco has been under the strict regiment of tutors since he was old enough to say incantations. Don’t put yourself down by comparing yourself to us in the practical fields,”

She shrugged. “Truth be told, Astronomy is actually quite useful. Maybe not in _this_ world, but have you ever seen what Muggles are doing with space? They’re sending massive rockets into the stars to search for new life and all sorts of really cool things. Look into it sometime– even if you don’t find purpose here, there’s no reason you can’t go work for one of the Muggle space agencies during the day.”

Ron brightened considerably, and Hermione grinned.

“All of you have some kind of class you excel at, just like us. Fred and George aren’t exactly far behind the three of us in terms of being well-rounded. Think about their prank products, they have to know how to brew potions, transfigure objects and charm things to do what they’re advertised to do. They’re quite gifted, they just don’t care about academia much.”

“That is very true, Madame Granger,” Fred said, nodding. “Mum castigates us about all sorts of rubbish, but do you think our grades are bad? We got OWLs in all our classes fifth year.”

“Ginny took after Mum with her Quidditch talent,” George said, nodding to the youngest Weasley. “Also she’s right mean with hexes if you get on her nerves. We’re so proud of our ickle Gingin.”

“Don’t call me that,” She grumbled.

“She’s also a talented Parseltongue now,” Harry said brightly, winking at Ginny.

“_Still scaring your family?_” She hissed in Parseltongue, and Ginny let out a giggle.

“_As far as battle scars go, this one isn’t terrible,_” Ginny hissed back.

Harry glanced up at the expressions in the room. “Oh, come off it, you lot. Wouldn’t _you_ like to be able to converse with snakes? It’s bloody cool, even if they’re the farthest thing from conversationalists.”

“I wonder if your kids will be able to speak it too,” Ron said idly, clearly thinking.

Harry blushed. “Maybe,” She deflected, not wanting to get into the fact she’d been thinking a lot about having kids someday.

“Anyway,” She said smoothly. “Let’s hope this year goes well, right?”

“Right,” everyone agreed.

“And if it doesn’t, well, we’ve got a laundry list of Claws and Puffs to test our little experiments on,” Fred said with a bright grin.

“Don’t get yourselves into trouble, now,” Harry said, eyeing the twins.

“Of course not,” George said with a wave of his hand. “We’re too clever for that.”

“Well, _still_,” Harry murmured. “Be careful.”

The sound of Molly Weasley calling for dinner interrupted their musing, and Harry sighed as she slid off Hermione’s lap, much to the latter girl’s chagrin. Harry raised an eyebrow at her as everyone filed out of the room. Once they were alone, Harry gently placed her hand on Hermione’s cheek.

“I promise, we’ll get more alone time soon, and once we’re back at Hogwarts, we’ll be bunking together and can spend as much time together as we please,” Harry said softly, before leaning in and kissing Hermione’s cheek. “Now come on, Mia. Our adoring public awaits.”

“You do realize every time you call me Mia, I’m calling you Jamie?” Hermione asked, a grin on her face.

“That is a price, my sweet, that I am willing to pay,” Harry said wistfully, before gripping Hermione’s hand in her own and pulling her to her feet. “Now c’mon, I don’t wanna let Sirius and Ron eat it all.”


	14. The Pink Toad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry prepares to begin her fifth year at Hogwarts, and with it, the terrible challenge of Dolores Jane Umbridge.

“Personally, I’m looking forward to going back, even if we do have to deal with a Ministry toadie as Defence professor,” Harry said wryly to her mother as they sat down at the table of Riverend Manor. “It can’t be that egregious, surely?”

“I wouldn’t be too confident about that. The Ministry’s trying their hardest to push up against Albus, and to extent, you,” Minerva said. “I’d wager they’re probably thinking they can catch Albus on a technicality and use it to put a microscope on your life.”

“Lovely,” Harry said, irritation on her face.

As people began to trickle in, it was abetted by the sudden arrival of owls–all bearing envelopes with the Hogwarts emblem.

“Ah, our booklists,” Harry said, grinning ear to ear. She accepted the envelope from the school owl, gave it a rasher from her plate, and popped open the list to check it.

“That foul, loathsome old bat!” Harry screeched, jumping to her feet in a rush.

“Harry?” Minerva asked, eyebrow raised.

“I scored an Outstanding on my OWL, right?” Harry said. “We’ve all seen that little scrap of parchment that said I passed. This bint of a professor is refusing to let me sit in sixth year DADA. I’ve been told that she’s refusing to accept my OWL results.”

“Unfortunately,” injected Severus Snape’s voice from behind them. Harry wheeled around, and noticed Snape and Dumbledore looking at her with sympathy. “Professors, surely she can’t do this? What was the point of taking my OWL if they’re not even going to let me take another year of Defence?”

“Unfortunately, classes are not obligatory after you complete your OWLs… Madame Umbridge is entitled, as much as I wish she weren’t, to deny any student the right to attend her NEWT-level courses. I’ve tried to speak to her on your behalf about this, but she considers it out of the question. In her words, ‘there is no way a fourteen-year-old could hope to understand the intricacies of advanced Defence’. She was going to have you repeat fifth year DADA, but I simply opted to remove it from your schedule. You’ve completed your OWL and have certification to that effect– it would be inappropriate and rather wasteful to have you take it again.”

“I’m _fifteen_, thank you,” Harry said, growling. “So, what, I’m just rogered then? Is that it?”

“Look on the bright side,” Draco piped up helpfully. “At least you don’t have to have class with her. Besides, given the fact she’s prescribed a book that is worth nothing more than its weight as paper for the loo, I can’t exactly say we’ll be learning much either.”

“You _could_, theoretically, use your free time to come up with your own alternative Defence curriculum. I, uh, _obviously_ do not recommend this, as it would be in violation of whatever rules exist for that. But I most certainly do not hear, see or notice you doing anything of the sort. Understand?” Snape said, black eyes glittering at Harry.

“Message received, sir,” Harry said, before placing her letter back on the table. “That bites.”

“You’ll have four hours a week of independent study. I’d use it to your advantage,” Snape said dryly. “There is a lot you can get done with four hours per week of free time– and consider this… Umbridge is a woman who now can’t keep her eye on you every minute of the day, and she can’t set you up for a failure or public humiliation.”

“She’ll try,” Harry said. “With the animosity between myself and Hufflepuff… boy, I can only imagine the field day she’s going to have with that.”

…

“Harry,” George said seriously the night before they were scheduled to return to Hogwarts. Harry looked up from her research book and cocked an eyebrow at the group in front of her. Cedric, Danielle, Fred and George were standing in the doorway, looking a bit nervous. “Do you mind if the four of us speak to you?”

“Of course,” Harry said, closing her textbook and tossing it into her trunk. She looked at the group and gestured for them to make themselves comfortable.

“Fred and I have been thinking a lot about… well, our future,” George began. “We’re not entirely sure we _want_ to sit our NEWTs. Mum won’t hear a word of it, she’s been giving us hell over it. If we were… _to leave_ school, would you still be interested in investing in us?”

Harry blinked and looked thoughtful. “I would want to see a bit more of your business plan. Are all four of you going to be going into business together?”

“We’re going to be helping them out, but it’s their company,” Cedric said. “I don’t want to follow my Dad into the Ministry, and honestly, running a shop like this would be amazing.”

“How’s your mail-order business going?” Harry asked, glancing at Fred and George.

“Well enough. We’re making some profit on it, but it’s not much. Your investment is safe, but we might need more if we want to rent a shop space in Diagon Alley.”

“Well, I’ve told you– I’m not going to tell you no if you need investments. I only ask that you have a clear vision in mind so I’m not just blowing my money on pipedreams. From what I’ve seen so far, you’re doing fine. What are you worrying about?”

“Mum throwing us out on our arse,” Fred said glumly. “We can’t afford to move out yet– and we’re not about to go moving in with Danielle or Cedric’s parents.”

“I’ll figure something out for you lot if it comes to that. My recommendation? Try to stick to your Mum’s request of staying in school. If things get too hot dealing with this Umbridge bint, then just high tail it. You’re adults now, they can’t _make_ you stay at Hogwarts,” Harry said. She had studied the law enough– once a student completed their OWLs, they technically had no obligation to remain at Hogwarts for NEWT studies. It was a little contingent in her pocket she had, what with the Ministry trying to make her life a living hell.

“Now, why don’t you tell me a bit about your new inventory. I can’t wait to see what you lot do to make this Ministry toadie suffer,”

“You and us too, dear honorary sister.”

…

Harry didn’t sleep very well that night. She was too busy thinking about what was to come in the year– thinking about Lord Voldemort and thinking about the manoeuvring of the Ministry. Her dreams, as infrequent as they were, had nothing of substance. She idly wondered if she was ever going to get a good night’s sleep but wagered it wouldn’t happen until after all this nonsense was dead and gone.

Waking up at her usual time, fifteen past four, she shuffled her way downstairs. Sitting down at the breakfast table and rubbing her head to get rid of the coming headache that sometimes cropped up, a plate of breakfast and a cup of coffee appeared in front of her, along with the sight of Dobby, wringing his hands.

“Thank you, Dobby,” Harry said, a slight smile on her face. She always appreciated the attentiveness of Draco’s house elf to keeping her honest about her health. Somebody had to keep on her about it, and Hermione wasn’t always around to do that.

“Mistress Harry is not sleeping,” Dobby said firmly, looking frustrated.

“I don’t sleep much, Dobby,” Harry said, taking a drink from her cup. “Between the fact that my brain never seems to quiet down, the Dark Lord’s little gift,” She gestured vaguely to her scar, “and all sorts of other things, sleep is not something I really get.”

“Dobby will make sure Mistress Harry Potter has Pepper-Up Potion at Hoggywarts,” Dobby said with a nod.

“You can’t keep not sleeping, Harry,” came the irritated voice of her mother.

Harry glanced behind her and sighed.

“Mum, it isn’t like I’m doing it for a lark, you know? I just… _don’t_ sleep well most of the time,” Harry said, looking annoyed. “The only time I ever sleep is if I’m so bloody exhausted I’m on death’s door, I get hurt, or if I’ve got Hermione wrapped around me and she won’t let me get out of bed. But Molly being Molly, she keeps checking in on us and I’m not about to have a screaming match because I’ve got my girlfriend in bed with me.”

Minerva rubbed her eyes irritably. “That woman, I swear to _Morgana_,”

“I don’t blame her, she’s just an overprotective maternal figure. She probably forgets _you’re_ a mother sometimes,” Harry said.

“I don’t know if I should be offended Molly things so little of my upbringing skills, or if she’s just a homophobe.”

“I doubt it’s the latter, Charlie’s got a husband,” Harry said, folding her arms. “It’s the same thing Dumbledore does– they’re trying to protect my childish virtue that I’ve not had since… _well_, ever, really. At least with Dumbledore, he doesn’t try to pretend I’m not capable of doing for myself sometimes. He’s just reluctant about it.”

Harry took a deep breath. “Mum, I cannot tell you how much I appreciate all you’ve done for me. I… I know I’ve got this big destiny to live up to, but I am so grateful that you allow me to be my own person and don’t try to box me in.”

“You’re too much like James and Lily for me to do that,” Minerva said wryly, gently running her hand through Harry’s hair. “You’re stubborn, live of mischief, and have a soul that is far too old for a girl of your age. You should be focused on silly teenaged things, not… _this kind of stuff._”

“As long as I live, I’ll never be _just_ a person,” Harry said simply. “The scar on my forehead is too important to people. To some I’m supposed to be a loyal puppet of the Powers That Be, and to some I represent this impossible thing that killed their Lord. I’ve got a bullseye on my back from cradle to grave.”

“When did you get to be so… _serious_?”

“But Mum, I’m not Sirius. I’m Harry.”

“Cheeky brat,” Minerva said, nudging her daughter.

“In all seriousness, Mum, I… don’t know? You’ve always taught me that there’s a time for fun and a time for being serious… and well, Hogwarts hasn’t exactly been a place where I can let my guard down. Between being put under unforgivables by a professor, dealing with Fatimah, dealing with Pettigrew…”

“Your childhood has been cleaning up after us adults one year after another,” Minerva said with a sigh. “We try to not make you deal with it, but you keep dealing with it, why are we so bloody useless?!”

“You’re taking care of a school full of hundreds of children, and the Dark Lord has a fixation on me. It’s not _your_ fault, Mum. It’s just… the way things kind of are.”

Harry looked pensively at her half-eaten breakfast. “What do you think’ll happen with this Umbridge woman at Hogwarts?”

“Nothing good, I wager,” Minerva said. “We’re likely to see her trying to find any reason to sack Albus, and then we’re off to the races. Do you think you can avoid antagonising her directly?”

“Define antagonising her directly,” Harry said.

“Directly, and openly challenging her authority with your powers as the de-facto Queen of Slytherin,” Minerva said, furrowing her eyebrows. “I don’t care if you help the Weasley twins stir up nonsense or have your little society of students. I just… don’t want you to have to deal with the Ministry directly.”

“I don’t have her for Defence, so I shouldn’t be around her very much except for in the Great Hall. I’ll keep my mouth shut, but I am 100% not going to be docile. Is she going to sack you if I’m rebellious?”

“I don’t know, she very well might,” Minerva said, looking uncertain.

“I’ll keep my distance, Mum. I promise,” Harry said, gently placing her hand over her mother’s.

…

The group from Riverend left in two ‘waves’. The first, including Minerva, Harry, Hermione, Draco and Narcissa, arrived at the platform just before the train was due to arrive to start boarding. It had been initially kicked around for Harry, being a high-value target as she was, to go to King’s Cross by Muggle means. Her mother (and everyone else) had put a right kibosh on that idea, stating very simply that it was a pointless gesture.

Ultimately, Harry got aboard the Hogwarts Express without incident, sinking into her seat with a sigh.

“Glad to be away from all the lunacy of Riverend?” Hermione asked, raising her eyebrow.

“I love the Weasley family to death, don’t get me wrong–but they’re a right nightmare to be around for too long. It’s like looking into a raging inferno of sheer chaos,” Harry said with a shiver. “Not my cuppa _at all, if I can help it._”

“At least Draco’s the one likely to marry into that set, so he’ll be fielding the worst of it. We’ll just be the strange friends, semi-cousins and/or aunts that show up every Christmas for a few hours before absconding off somewhere else.”

“Thank heavens for small mercies, I don’t think I could listen to Ron talk about Quidditch for more than a couple hours at a time. I’m glad he’s not a Slytherin for that exact reason.”

“Ronald Weasley? In Slytherin? Morgana’s tits, Harry, don’t give me nightmares,” Draco smoothly interjected with a grin. “The reason I love him so much is that he’s the quintessential Gryffindor lug. Shags like a _king_ though.”

“Nobody wants to hear about you shagging Weasley,” Harry said petulantly.

“That’s just because you don’t shag Granger enough,” Draco said simply, grinning. “How many times have you done it, honestly?”

“A couple times,” Harry muttered under her breath, refusing to look Draco in the eye. “Don’t be a prat about it, we’re just taking it slow.”

Draco shrugged theatrically as he took his seat. “Oh yeah, just so you know–Mum got approved to be Flitwick’s assistant. She’s teaching all the first, second- and third-year Charms classes now, I guess she’ll replace him once he retires.”

“Oh, good for her!” Hermione said brightly. “I didn’t know Hogwarts still did apprenticeships.”

“Kinda hard to, given how few masteries come _out_ of Hogwarts, and how protective some professors are of their job– Snape would never let a potential Potions master apprentice under him,” Harry said. “I know that my biological mum was going to apprentice under Slughorn before she died,”

“You come from a family of exceptions to the rule,” Draco said with a snort. “Your father was born late into your grandparents’ life, your mother was a prodigy even though she was a first-gen, and now you, Miss I Can Survive Death Itself.”

“Ah, yes, a wonderous achievement,” Harry deadpanned. “A permanent deformity on my face, dead parents, and dealing with a Dark Lord who believes I’m going to kill him before I get my apparition license.”

“That’s Riddle’s fault for being a stupid ponce about an infant,” Hermione said, eyebrow raised. “If he’d just left you alone, he probably would’ve won _anyway._”

“Oh, that’s bloody terrifying to think of,” Harry murmured.

“I wonder who our prefects are this year,” Hermione said aloud. “Mum was a bit surprised I wasn’t chosen,” She admitted.

“It’s likely because you’re known to hang around me,” Harry said with a snort. “Mum explained it to me a bit. She said something along the lines of… well, because I’ve got such a massive destiny, and so many specific things going on in my life, I’m really ill-fitting for a job that requires paying attention to the needs of younger students. You’re my girlfriend, and inevitably going to be involved in whatever nonsense I’m arse-deep in, so you get cast in the same light.”

“And I presume I am in much the same boat,” Draco said with a grin.

“That, and I bet they couldn’t figure out if they should do the legal thing and make me male prefect or stick it in the eye of those Ministry bastards and make me the girls’ prefect.”

Hermione nodded in understanding before her eyes lit up. “Harry! Are you wearing a girl’s uniform this year?”

“Duh,” Harry said. “After that little display at the end of last term, I’m done trying to hide myself. Let the sun rise, and let it _scour_ the bones of my enemies clean. Direct quote from Sally Slytherin on that one.”

“You have to let me read some of those books of his,” Hermione muttered. “It’s not fair.”

“Once I’m done with all the nonsense I’ve got to deal with, I’ll let you take in all the wisdom the man left. A lot of it is personal anecdotes though, I wouldn’t call it exactly revolutionary material.”

“It’s still one of the only surviving historical records of the Founders left,” Hermione said primly.

“Is it my fault none of the other three founders protected their journals and diaries from being looted or destroyed? Slytherin was a clever bloke, making sure none of his books could be removed from the Chamber,” Harry said, looking a bit put off.

“I’m glad you’re not going to let the Ministry walk all over you,” Hermione said with a grin. “It’s why I’m not bent out of shape about not being a prefect. Honestly, I’d probably just go barmy with all the nonsense I’d have to put up with, being a toadie of whomever they decide to stick in as Dumbledore’s leash-holder.”

“Getting a bit punchy there, aren’t we, darling?” Harry asked innocently. “What happened to the rule-abiding bookworm I fell in love with?”

“She died and was replaced by someone who is getting right tired of being kicked around for being born a certain way and is tired of seeing the love of her life treated like dirt,” Hermione said matter-of-factly, before reaching over and kissing Harry on the lips. “If it means being a bit more illogical and punchier, then that is a compromise I am willing to agree to.”

After their conversation had dabbled into minor pleasantries and general nonsense, the door finally jarred open to reveal a rather harried looking Ron Weasley.

“You lot should’ve said you were leaving early! I haven’t the faintest idea what possessed Mum to try to get all of us off to Hogwarts fifteen minutes before the train sets off,” Ron complained, dropping into Draco’s lap theatrically.

“Your mum is well-intentioned, but sometimes she’s a bit thick,” Harry pointed out. “Great at all sorts of things, including hitting a Bludger, but right terrible at time management.”

Ron glanced at Harry and snorted. “Yeah, Dad’s got a joke that she’ll be fifteen minutes late to her own funeral. First, it was that Fred and George set off some new prank item of theirs on accident, then it was Ginny couldn’t find some of her school things, then my trousers tore, and she had to mend them. We didn’t get out of Riverend until… what, twenty minutes before the train left?”

“Eighteen, dear brother,” Fred said in a sing-song voice as he appeared in the doorway. “Mum’s specialty of getting us on the train at the last possible minute. One would think she does it deliberately to squeeze out every last moment she has with us before we’re off to Hogwarts.”

“Here I would’ve thought she’d be glad to have a quiet house for a change,” Harry said with a smirk.

“No,” Hermione said, shaking her head. “Mrs. Weasley is one of those types that loathes an empty nest. It’s why she has seven children. She’s terrified of the silence of an empty house.”

“Mum does take pride in the home, after her Quidditch career went to pot, and all,” Fred said.

“One could say,” George said, appearing next to his brother. “That she took the same ferocity and sheer willpower that she applied to being a Beater, and turned it into being a mother. I can only hope I can do something like that as a dad.”

“Or a mum, if Cedric insists,” Draco snarked.

“Don’t be a tosser,” George said, sticking his tongue out. “Cedric and I’ve already got an agreement. We’ll play a game of chess.”

“Cedric’s not exactly bad at chess, George,” Harry pointed out. “I’ve played a game or two against him.”

“Everyone’s better than you at chess, Harry,” Hermione said. “You’re terrible at it.”

Harry turned pink and folded her arms. “I’m good at lots of other things.”

“Of course, you are,” Hermione said with a smile. “If it weren’t for the fact I know you’d never intentionally hurt me, I’d be downright terrified to needle you. You’re mean with hexes; I’d hate to be on the receiving end of Harry Potter’s temper.”

“You’re just like Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape. It takes a whole lot to make you boil, but when you do…” Ron said, looking green.

“Hell hath no fury,” George said with a guffaw.

“Oh, thanks, didn’t know I was such a bitch,” Harry said, before taking out the Elder Wand and twirling it in her fingers. “But shall I start the year off with a nice one?”

“Oh, shit,” Fred and George both muttered, before disappearing from sight entirely.

“I’ll have to remember to use my infamy to my advantage,” Harry said dryly as she tucked the wand back into her sleeve. “Good to know being my mother’s daughter has its advantages.”

“Everyone’s terrified enough of an old Scottish woman bearing down on them with that glare… the last thing anybody wants is a short Scottish girl with eyes that fucking _glow_ doing it,” Draco said pointedly.

Harry couldn’t help but laugh.

…

It always seemed to rain miserably by the time the Hogwarts Express pulled into its destination. Students rushed from the trains to their destinations– first years crowding around Hagrid and being led down to the shores of the lochs to be ferried to Hogwarts proper, while Harry and the other returning students corralled into their thestral-drawn carriages.

Harry thought about it–perhaps it was a sign? The first time she’d gotten to Hogwarts as a student, it had been a clear, star-filled night. A hopeful sign of what was to come, the next great adventure she’d get to experience. Since then, with each passing year, the weather conditions had just gotten more and more depressing.

Second year– it had been an overcast and windy evening with the distant crack and rumble of a storm just beyond the reaches of their sight.

Third year– it had rained relentlessly from London up to Scotland, combined with the presence of the dementors causing the temperature around Hogwarts’ grounds to plunge into unseasonal conditions. She remembered wearing layered clothing up to the point where she’d confronted the dementors in that terrible storm.

Fourth year– it had been another blinding torrential downpour like this one, a terrible omen.

She idly wondered what _this_ was an omen for. She didn’t put a whole lot of stock in Divination, but she idly wondered if there was something to latent magic mixing with weather patterns.

“Penny for your thoughts, Jamie?” Hermione said, nudging Harry.

“I don’t know, Mia. Thinking about omens, maybe?” Harry said glumly. “I was just thinking about if there was something to magic and certain natural things having a synthesis effect or something like that.”

“It’s possible,” Hermione said smoothly. “The only reason I didn’t want to sign up for the class. Professor Trelawney… focuses so much on _seeing_, which you can’t do without The Sight, but…”

“There’s more to divination than just being a Seer,” Ron said with a nod. “There’s scrying, which can be useful for making loose predictions of what is to come– omens and the like. I… thought that was what the class was about when I signed up for it in third year, what a let-down…”

“How many people’s education suffers because of… questionable employment choices?” Draco said wryly.

“Professor Dumbledore’s not perfect,” Harry said pointedly. “Trelawney was the one who spun the prophecy that binds me and Moldybread… unfortunately, I think he hired her on to protect her from Death Eaters– similar reason he hired Snape.”

Nobody seemed to like the implications of that.

“So, what happens… _after_ this is all done? Does Trelawney get cut loose?” Ron asked.

“They could set up a class for the upper years to study being a Seer if they’ve got the gift of applicational Divination,” Harry said. “And then a general class on non-Seer divination.”

“Why didn’t the Headmaster do that to start with?” Ron retorted.

“It wouldn’t hold up to scrutiny, and who else would teach Divination? Centaurs? That’d fly over with the Ministry like a lead balloon. They hate non-humans. It opens too many questions about letting other non-humans teach. A Goblin teaching History, for instance– that’d cause a riot of argument, but hiring on _one_ non-human sets up too many other arguments.”

“It’s a good reason why Remus’ lycanthropy got swept under the rug before it got leaked to the Ministry,” Hermione murmured.

“Exactly,” Harry said in a sing-song voice, looking smug.

“I’m looking forward to Alchemy,” Draco said with a smile. “I hope it’ll be interesting enough.”

“We’re being taught by one of the foremost experts on Alchemy in all of Europe,” Hermione said. “I think we’ll learn a wealth of new information.”

“She didn’t prescribe a textbook, which is odd,” Harry murmured.

“There isn’t much in the way of practically-applicable textbooks for such a… _unique_ field of study,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “The foremost authority in the field _is_ Nicholas Flamel, all other textbook approaches are… spotty at best. I believe the last major publication in the field was, erm, about ten years ago?”

“Ten years?” Ron asked.

“Dumbledore published a manuscript about expanded alchemic studies in China during the Tang Dynasty,” Hermione said. “It wasn’t very informative, it mostly recycled information that’s been well known since the Zhou era. I believe that Professor Flamel will have a lot of her husband’s prowess, and her own, to come to our benefit.”

“I can only hope,” Harry said dryly.

When the carriages finally came to a stop, Harry and her friends filed off and moved towards the Entrance Hall, where charms erected by the Headmaster quickly dried and warmed them so they wouldn’t track puddles of water further than the foyer. Harry greeted the numerous returning Slytherins–most of whom she’d come to consider close confidants over the years.

She spied the prefect badge sitting on Blaise and Millicent’s lapels.

“Congratulations, you two,” Harry said fondly as they sat across from Harry. “Honestly, you two will do fine as prefects.”

“Thanks,” Blaise said with a smile. “Glad to see you’re not hiding yourself away, anymore, Potter. It suits you,” He gestured to her now public appearance and she gave him a knowing wink.

Even more Slytherins dropped by her seat to pay their respects to the Queen of Slytherin. Harry found the title a useful crutch with which to bludgeon racial prejudice down into the dirt– and took no small amount of pleasure at having cultivated such a tremendous network of support from among a House that had long since been condemned to the stereotype of pure evil by the world.

While Harry waited for the first years to arrive, she surveyed the staff at the Head Table. The normal assortment of professors she’d come to know and respect over the years were seated in an orderly row, with the notable addition of the pink-clad toadie from the Minister’s office. Dolores Umbridge looked like someone had taken a _perfectly coiffed_ Hutt from Harry’s favourite film, dressed it in all-pink, and then plopped it in the Ministry’s offices.

Snorting in amusement at the diminutive witch who surveyed the student body like she was some form of an absolute monarch, Harry turned to see the arrival of the unsorted first years. To Harry’s pleasure, and confirming the thoughts she’d already been having on the long-term prospects of Muggleborns being sorted, the majority of first-generation wix ended up in Slytherin, joining the already burgeoning group of half-bloods and muggleborns that would have normally eschewed to the other three houses.

Harry felt that her presence was a turning point. Most of the older students that had looked down on her when she was a wee firstie herself were gone now– either gone to join Voldemort in his coming attempt to reign terror, or gone in the sense that they’d done their duty for their Master, gotten taken out for it, or were rotting in jail for doing something most likely illegal.

She corralled some of the first years over next to her and Hermione, introducing them to the senior-most Muggleborn student in Slytherin, and promising that she’d ensure they were looked after and that they were very welcome in Slytherin House, honestly, the best house. This was met with murmurs of support among Harry’s “inner circle”, and the firsties seemed to brighten considerably at the prospect of being in the same house as Harry Potter– whom they either knew from bedtime stories told by wixen parents, or from books that extolled her accomplishments as the vanquisher of evil.

One thing Harry had learned in her time in the public eye– sometimes using the title was to public benefit, rather than detriment.

Once the last firstie had been sorted, Dumbledore stood up and gestured grandly.

“Welcome to another wonderful year of learning here at Hogwarts. I hope that your summer was full of excitement and relaxation, and that you are ready to begin another wonderful chapter of your journey here-”

_hem hem_

“–of course, we have yet another new Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor this term, Madame Dolores Umbridge, who has so graciously offered her services from the Ministry for Magic. I hope you will all join us in wishing her the best. Good luck, Professor,”

There was mediocre and soft applause at the proclamation–most students did not approve. The hardest clapping came from Hufflepuff, Harry assumed they still harboured some kind of grudge over last year.

As Dumbledore’s speech continued, the pink toad cleared her throat again, just loud enough to interrupt and break Dumbledore’s speech. She rose to her feet and walked to the front of Dumbledore’s special pulpit.

“Thank you, Headmaster,” She crooned, as if she was completely unaware at the incredibly disrespectful and rude action she’d just committed against the Headmaster of Hogwarts. “for those most kind words of welcome,”

Harry hated her even more than she already did. Where Harry spend most of her adolescence trying to navigate this strange pathway betwixt _femininity_ and _retaining herself_, Umbridge seemed to ooze the very essence of trying too hard at womanhood. Her voice was high and grating, like nails on a bloody chalkboard, and she dolled herself up to look almost like an innocent thing.

“What a pleasure it is to be back here at Hogwarts– and to see such happy faces,” She crooned. Harry didn’t have to look around to know that nobody was giving this moistened bint a smile. Bloody harpy.

“The Ministry for Magic has always considered education of young wix to be vitally important– the gifts you possess are the keys to the future of everything, and must be honed by very careful instruction– we cannot do this without the… unique talents of our teaching staff,” She said with a grand gesture to the teachers behind her, all of whom gave her looks of incredulousness or outright annoyance.

“Every headmaster and headmistress of this fair school has brought something new to the table– progress, without which we would see decay and ruin. However, progress for _progress’s sake_ must be discouraged. It simply cannot do to throw away traditions that have guided our peoples for so very long. A balance, then, a very strong balance, must be achieved between the new, and the old…”

Harry idly wondered what the woman was aiming at, raising her eyebrow and listening carefully to the words as they spilled from her venomous maw.

“…pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited.”

_Bingo!_ There’s your red flag, there’s your massive fucking sign in the sky that says warning, danger, warning.

Harry felt incredulous– was this woman going to try to single-handedly shape Hogwarts because the fat arse of a Minister told her she could? Hogwarts has existed for… longer than the Ministry for Magic has, what right do these arseclowns have to come in and ruin everything?

The immediate _seething_ anger towards this interloping bint settled in, and Harry knew, just then, that she was going to have a rough time this year.


	15. The Properties of Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first week at Hogwarts proceeds-- Umbridge tries to meddle, Harry is introduced to alchemy, and Augusta Longbottom brings a cautious warning...

Albus Dumbledore eyed the half-empty glass of firewhiskey and let out an aggrieved sigh. He was getting too bloody old for this shit.

One of the things a man often reflected on in his 114th year, was the fact that his life up to that point had been penance for all the awful, awful things he’d done.

He had willingly joined arms with a boy he’d loved so very dearly, given him the means and the inspiration to build a movement of black-shirted thugs, and his own bloody heart had cost the Muggle and wixen world thousands of gallons of shed blood. It had cost his sister her life, and it had cost him his innocence.

After his sister’s untimely demise, he’d thrown himself into the weighty work of teaching–mostly in hopes of inspiring future generations to be better than he had with his ideals. That had led him to picking up the title of Transfiguration professor, and subsequently Deputy Headmaster. He yearned to keep children from repeating his mistakes.

When Grindelwald had lit the fuse of the powder keg that tore nations asunder, Albus–merely that professor of Transfiguration, had stepped into the limelight as the only man who could defeat Grindelwald.

He _knew_ the man. They had been so intimate with one another, all their secrets laid bare, all their tactics and strategies known and shared.

No, Gellert had never expected Albus to stand so firmly against him, and it had been a triumph of will that had led Albus to his victory that blistering summer of 1945– but at what expense? The loss of so many promising young lives, the loss of souls that shouldn’t have been lost.

However, the fatal flaw in his ‘act of selflessness’ had been his extreme delay in actually doing what he needed to do. He spent so many years hoping Gellert would change his ways, step away from the dark abyss calling to him… but… no, it hadn’t played out that way, and he’d been forced to break the man he once loved so dearly.

But he was still paying his penance. He’d been blind to the rise of Tom Riddle, letting his confidence in his abilities prey upon him. He’d failed to act when Riddle was a boy building a grandiose destiny in his head– building dreams of a war, a society, that wiser men would never enact. It had cost Myrtle Warren her life, and Rubeus his future as a wizard.

Two more notches in his list of penances to pay.

He’d grown so lost in his own cult of personality– the Man Who Won, the Conqueror of Grindelwald, the Next Merlin, that he’d failed to see Riddle growing in power, doing the unthinkable and splitting himself… into something less than human.

And then that infamous duel– the duel that had, in one swift stroke, consigned Lily and James Potter to their graves, and had consigned Harry Potter to a life without a childhood. He had been so confident in his abilities, that he hadn’t taken Tom seriously, and Tom had humiliated him. Spared him in his own moment of weakness, but the man had taken the Elder Wand as his own.

Only to lose it again, surprisingly enough—to an infant, of all people.

Harry Potter was yet another person Albus felt he owed an immense debt to. The young girl had been left with an enormous destiny because of his failures– everything seemed to trace back to him, and Albus often contemplated taking his own life as a means to end the cycle of vicious violence. He had served his purpose as a military leader, a political figure, and an educator. It was all for naught as everything constantly came to a burning crash around him.

But _hope_, that precious glimmer burned in his youngest pupil. He could only hope that by fixing the mistakes he made, treating Harry like an equal, and teaching his young apprentice all she needed to know to be all the things he could never be, would be enough to fix his wrongs. Maybe then, when the Master of Death claimed Tom Riddle and his soul fragments, and _ended_ this war that never seemed to end, he could retire in peace. Spend the rest of his days doing something that felt more meaningful. He had spent so long at Hogwarts, he was beginning to feel listless, feel… _wanderlust._

He looked up at the portrait of Ariana he’d recently had installed on the far wall facing his desk. Filling his glass with firewhiskey again, he raised it, and gestured towards the portrait.

“To the future, my dear sister. May this nightmare end,” He murmured, before taking a long, heavy draught.

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. Getting drunk would do nothing– he was the Headmaster of Hogwarts and had to keep up appearances. That blasted Umbridge woman was like a shark, she’d be searching for blood in the water, and him being intoxicated on the job would do literally nothing to help his case that he was doing his job. Pulling out his wand and banishing the liquor back to small safe he had hidden behind another portrait, he pulled one of the sobering potions out of his desk and downed it in a single stroke.

He needed to be serious. That woman was going to be a menace until she was out of Hogwarts– either in chains, by force, or wrapped in a sheet. Albus wasn’t a fool, he knew that Dolores was the sort of woman who lived on borrowed time. She never thought before she opened her mouth and affronted everything and everyone in the world. Half-bloods, First-generation wix, mixed race, mixed ethnicity, other religions, anybody who didn’t fit her exact ideal perfect mould of what a witch or wizard should be.

She was fucking insidious!

He wandlessly summoned a collection of parchments and began to go over it– Harry was a smart girl, and he had taught her nearly everything he could that was within his legal parameters as Headmaster. She knew what she needed to study now, and he had no qualms in saying that he _knew_ she’d do her best. He _wished_ he could be there to coach her through the adjustment period of publicly transitioning sexes _and_ dealing with the sudden wealth of magical power at her disposal now that she was partnered with her true wand, but _alas,_ the Ministry was going to be a thorn in his side, and if he could shield Harry from it for at least _part_ of the year– all the better.

…

Since September the First fell on a Friday this year, classes were put on hold until that following Monday. Harry invested the opportunity to get a lay of the latest changes to Slytherin House. The addition of new firsties, including a rather sizable contingent of ‘first-gen’ or Muggleborn students, had led to Harry and Hermione effectively coordinating a student outreach program.

Before long, with the help of most of the prefects, many of the upper class Slytherin students quickly formed new friendships with the younger ones and made a move to help them through their classes and escorts. Harry was one of the only Slytherins to not have an escort, primarily owing to her typically busy schedule. However, she did openly volunteer to spend some of her Independent Study time to help all the students who needed help with their pre-existing classes, but insisted they create some kind of time-table so she didn’t get thrown out on her arse by Madame Pince for causing too much ruckus in the library.

On the first Monday of the term, Harry quickly rose and dressed in the obviously female uniform, taking great care to ensure every facet of it was perfectly in line with the traditional female dress-code. With Hermione’s elbow tucked in hers, the two girls made their way to the Great Hall for their morning meal.

As Harry dug into a rather light breakfast, she kept her ear open to the conversations of her fellow Slytherins—Tracey Davis had come over at one point to ask questions about her summer essay for Transfiguration, to which Harry was more than happy to assist. While she was in the middle of walking Tracey through some of the problems she was facing, she heard the light _hem hem_ of a certain pink menace from over her shoulder.

Harry slowly craned her head towards Madame Umbridge.

“Professor, is there something you need from me?”

“Yes, Mister Potter, I seem to notice you are out of uniform—I know it must be hard, complying with the law as it is written, however, it is clear that you are registered as a male, therefore I must ask you to change into a _male_ uniform, for decency’s sake,” Umbridge said in her whispery absolutely-bollocks-falsetto.

Harry blinked. Was this really the first salvo of her attempts to needle her? To nitpick over uniform consistency?

“I certainly apologize, Professor,” Harry said, stressing the honorific. “However, I have the permission of Headmaster Dumbledore, Deputy Headmistress McGonagall, and Professor Snape to wear this uniform.”

“Do you have this permission in writing?” She asked sweetly, seemingly hoping to catch Harry in a technicality.

However, Harry, having built a _lifetime_ of ‘be prepared’ at the hands of Minerva, Rolanda, Albus, Sirius and Hermione, quickly pulled the requisite parchment out of her bag, and handed it to Umbridge.

> In compliance with the diagnosis of gender dysphoria and body dysmorphia issued by Licensed and Certified Healer Andromeda Black Tonks on the 23rd Day of August 1995, which recommends a social and physical gender transition to harmonize magic and body, Harry James Potter has permission to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry according to her preferred gender; including but not limited to access to lavatories, uniform choice, and manner of address by faculty and staff.
> 
> Signed,
> 
> **Albus Dumbledore**, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
> 
> **Minerva McGonagall**, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
> 
> **Severus Snape**, Head of Slytherin House

“Does everything appear to be in order, _ma’am_?” Harry asked, once again emphasizing the respectful manner of address, in hopes of shutting down any further attacks on her own character, or insinuations against her.

Umbridge looked red in the face as she handed back the permission slip and trundled off to wherever she was going–likely her classroom. Harry sighed folded the paper back up and stuck it in her bag again.

“How rude of her,” Draco noted, narrowing his eyes at the retreating toad. “Questioning you like that in the Great Hall.”

“Eh,” Harry said with a shrug. “Old bint is gunning for any reason to take me down. I just won’t give her the satisfaction. As it is, given she’s banned me from taking Defense Against the Dark Arts, I haven’t much reason to be around her outside of the Great Hall, have I?”

“Most certainly not,” Hermione said primly. “Not that I really expect the class to be of much use,” She intoned dryly.

“I’m sorry, Mia,” Harry said sadly.

“It’s fine,” Hermione said quietly. “I’m just glad you haven’t got to deal with her, Jamie. It’ll save us all trouble that way.”

“Anybody else wondering how they’ll fare in their Career Advice meetings?” Theo asked non-chalantly.

“I’m sure there’s not a single Slytherin that’ll have an issue,” Harry said wryly. “Snape is always encouraging of ambition– as long as your aims are lofty enough…”

“Right,” Theo said. “I’m just worried, that’s all. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll even live to see a career.”

“You will, Theo. I promise,” Harry said, gently placing a hand on her friend’s.

The group soon proceeded to their first class of the day– Charms. As pleasant of a class as ever, Professor Flitwick began the class with a discussion, rather in-depth, of the expectations for the year. With OWLs fast approaching, there was a tremendous amount of emphasis on revisions to older spells, including everyone’s favourite drama-maker, the Levitation Charm.

As soon as the charm was mentioned, the room full of Gryffindors and Slytherins belted out into light giggles.

“It’s LeviOOOOOOsa, not LevioSAAAAR,” Draco said dramatically, throwing himself onto his boyfriend, who was cackling loudly over it.

This earned a screech of indignation from Hermione and a solid punch to the arm from Harry.

“Don’t tease. It’s not nice, Drake,” Harry admonished.

“Very wise words, Miss Potter,” Professor Flitwick said with a smile. “Yes, yes, I know we’re all quite familiar with that sordid little tale, but please do try to control yourselves, everyone. Shall we at least begin with that? Mister Weasley, please remember to enunciate clearly, and Mister Finnegan? Please don’t blow up my classroom again. Ready, everyone?”

…

Class had gone well– and as everyone was filing out, Harry nudged Ron.

“Hey, mate, promise me you won’t go running off and making trouble with a troll again? I can’t keep saving you Gryffs, you know.”

“Bugger off, Harry,” Ron said, rolling his eyes. “You’re never going to let me live that one down, are you?”

“You were in the lavatory ranting and raving about Hermione upstaging you in class,” Harry deadpanned. “I think you won’t let _yourself_ live that down.”

The next class was Potions– the class where Professor Snape’s good side went out the door, and the reigning tyrant of potion-making made everyone’s life rather unpleasant– unless you were, of course, his favourite students.

Or rather– you were Harry Potter and Hermione Granger.

“Settle down,” Snape said dryly as he swept into the room, casting a scathing eye at the assembled fifth-year class. “Before we start today’s lesson, I think it appropriate I remind you that next June you will be sitting an important examination– one whose importance to your future cannot be overstated. In this exam you will come to prove just how much of this class’ material you have retained, and how much has been lost in the pursuit of your… _baser_ instincts.”

Sniggering filled the room before Snape’s glare made it fall to a hushed silence.

“After this year, some of you– most of you, likely, will not be moving on to my NEWT class. I expect nothing less than an Acceptable on my Potions OWL, lest you suffer my… displeasure.”

The hanging threat was a strange one, but Harry knew it was mostly for show– Snape might be a former Death Eater, but the man was harmless when it came to children.

The lesson soon started with the “Draught of Peace”, one of the first Ordinary Wizarding Level potions. Snape had warned beforehand of certain possible ramifications of not following the Potions material to the letter, and quickly began to sweep the room examining the methodologies of some students.

Harry flipped open her notes on each of the potions for the semester and glanced up at the instructions on the board, and got to work.

First, powdered moonstone was put into the cauldron until it turned a pleasant forest green, Harry nodded approvingly before stirring in the new contents until the potion changed shades, becoming a vibrant, almost electric blue. She then added in more of the powdered moonstone–turning the potion a rather regal shade of purple, which quickly turned as pink as Dora Tonks’ hair as it simmered down.

Harry then quickly added a measurement of syrup of hellebore into the mixture, causing it to turn a rather lovely shade of turquoise, that quickly turning purple again as it simmered and the ingredients continued their magical synthesis.

She quickly pulled out her powdered porcupine quills and shook them rapidly until she thought they were ready enough before she gently added them into the potion, which turned red like fake blood. She grimaced and stirred it until the potion lightened to Weasley-orange.

“You’ve done it wrong,” Snape interjected on the far-side of the room, castigating one of the Gryffindors for poor lab safety. He vanished their potion and ordered them to start again.

Harry quickly readjusted her attention and continued babysitting her potion, specifically continuing the process of adding ingredients and monitoring the shades of colour as they changed. Soon, Harry was finishing the seventeenth step of the instructions, and looked satisfied as her potion took on a silvery sheen and a light silvery mist began to float up from it.

Snape seemed to catch it, and quickly moved over to her, inspecting her potion and giving a tight nod.

“You’re done, Potter. Flask it, label it, and place it on my desk. Two points to Slytherin. Once you’re done with that, please step over and help Mister Thomas with redoing his potion.”

Harry quickly filled, labeled and placed the flagon on Snape’s desk, before drifting over to Dean’s table.

“How’re you doing, Dean?” Harry asked carefully as she observed his motions. “Just started a new potion, right?”

“Yeah, Professor Snape got rid of mine– said I didn’t do it right,” He said, glaring daggers at the Professor who was wholly unawares of the glare. Or maybe not.

“Mister Thomas, I am not your potion, you will get your eyes off me and back onto what you are doing now,” Snape warned.

“Yes, sir,” Dean muttered.

“Aye, don’t worry about it too much, Dean,” Harry said brightly. “We’ll get you squared away, no problem. Where do you think ya went wrong last time?”

“I forgot the syrup of hellebore,” Dean said.

“Okay, let’s remember that this time,” She said as she assisted Dean through his process. Just before Snape called time, Dean’s potion had turned the same elegant silver as Harry’s.

“Great job, Dean. You did fine. You’ve gotta deal with your anxieties in here, but you’re not too bad of a potioneer.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Snape said as he hawked over Dean’s potion. “Mmm– this is acceptable, however, it will be half-marks since you required Miss Potter’s assistance to complete it.”

And with that, he swept back to the front of the room and began barking at students to submit their results. Ron had managed something acceptable, as had Neville, and the rest were ranging from nearly as good as Harry to downright dreadful, which a couple of Slytherins submitted.

As class let out, Dean sighed and slung an arm around Seamus’ neck.

“Half-marks, that’s about all I could’ve asked for, I guess,” He muttered, rubbing his face. “Thanks again, Harry.”

“Ah, I have a soft spot for Gryffindors, what with my Mum and all. Couldn’t let you lot drown if I’ve got a life preserver,” Harry said good-naturedly, clapping Dean on his free shoulder.

…

At promptly eleven, the door to the Alchemy classroom opened, admitting the delightful sight of Professor Perinelle Flamel.

“Good morning, you three,” She said warmly as the door came to a close behind her. “Before we begin today, I would like to say that I am not one for formal manners of address. You may call me Perinelle– in this environment, we will be working closely together, and I wouldn’t wish for us to not be friends. Now,” She clasped her hands together.

“Harry, what can you tell me about the Philosopher’s Stone?” She said with a bright smile.

“Erm,” Harry said, blinking. “Created by you and your husband, the Philosopher’s Stone is one of the only known ingredients to create the Elixir of Life, which can cure all diseases and prolong a human being’s lifetime by an unknown amount.”

“Correct– while we will not explicitly learning how to fashion a philosopher’s stone here,” Perinelle said wryly. “We will still learn some of the fundamentals of alchemy– including transmutation of objects, fashioning advanced alchemal potions, and how to augment wards and runic structures with alchemal properties.”

Harry noticed Hermione’s hand shoot up in question.

“Please, you don’t need to raise your hand, just ask your question, Hermione,” Perinelle said with a smile.

“Of course. Sorry,” Hermione said, blushing. “When you say alchemal potions and augmenting, what exactly do you mean?”

“Well, there are some ways you can use alchemy as a means to change the explicit properties of some potions and ward schemata. For instance, I could add an alchemal component to a ward around a house for instance, where, if a lycanthrope was to step within the ward-lines, the ground beneath them would turn to liquid silver.”

Hermione hissed in surprise, and Perinelle gave a grimace.

“Not the nicest way to do it, but certainly an example. As well, properties of Alchemy can enhance the power of Potions. A standard Pepper-Up Potion, we’re all familiar with?”

Murmurings of acknowledgement from the trio made her nod in satisfaction. “With certain alchemal property modifications, it’s power could be amplified. The trick is to figure out where the tolerances are and do it in a way that does not cause harm to yourself– a good example of where Potioneering and Alchemy go hand-in-hand is, fundamentally, the creation of the Elixir of Life. It requires some fundamentals in Potioneering that an entirely Arithmantic-focused Alchemist would lack on a good day,”

She pulled out a small vial and showed it to them. “This is in fact, the Elixir of Life. I have to take it once every few months to prevent rapid on-set aging. One does not get to be as old as I am without some sacrifice. And before you ask, a woman does not reveal her age,” She said with a wink.

“So the Stone’s… still around,” Harry said in a murmur.

“And safer than it ever was here. I never did thank you for your role in keeping it safe, young Harry. I’m sure my darling Nicholas thanked you, but I must stress that you did us a great service.”

“It wasn’t anything– just my usual lack of self-preservation,” Harry said with a wry smile.

“Now,” Perinelle said as she tucked the vial back away, out of sight. “Let us begin by first discussing the basic fundamentals of transmutation. Before the holidays, I shall expect you to be able to demonstrate some form of competency in transmuting baser objects into gold.”

She took a deep breath, changing subject.

“Are any of you familiar with the Non-Magical concept of a personal computer?” Perinelle asked.

Harry and Hermione both raised their hand– Draco did not.

“A personal computer, Draco, is a non-magic device that stores a wealth of information, can communicate with other devices like it on a tremendous network spanning the world, and can create sound, images and other things in the blink of an eye. It is perhaps the _pinnacle_ of just how far the non-magic population has grown at our expense in the last twenty-five years,” Perinelle said, before looking at the other two in turn.

“One of the most interesting things I’ve noticed is that non-mages have been able to… abstract the process of alchemy and transfiguration with their electronics. Alchemy is in, many ways, learning to use the _assembly_ language of magic.”

Hermione gasped, and Perinelle nodded.

“It was a surprise to Nicholas and I when we went to Paris about twenty years ago and found non-mages selling these devices that worked just like an alchemy table– but without the magical properties. The way these non-mages speak to the very beating heart of their machines, teaching them to dance and play, so can we speak to the beating heart of magic and teach it to dance and play. It _is_ the most basic form of magic you can imagine.”

“The transmutation of objects into gold– this is not normally a property that is possible with your bog-standard magical spells. It requires an immense amount of alchemal focus and time to change it into pure gold. A lot of people cannot even muster that, and will instead turn it to pyrite, tarnished gold, bronze, copper, silver–”

“Could alchemy be used to violate fundamental laws, like Gamp’s Law of Transfiguration?” Harry asked.

“Possibly,” Perinelle said with a smile. “Though the results may not always turn out the way you want. There is a form of equivalent exchange involved, and that which you summon using alchemal transfiguration and alchemal charms could end up serving no benefit to you– What is the value of a sandwich with zero calories?”

“If there’s equivalent exchange involved, what would be required to give that object some form of benefit?” Draco asked.

“Either taking the direct energy from you, the environment, or some energy source. Nicholas and I have been experimenting with non-magic power sources and harnessing them for larger-scale alchemal projects,” Perinelle said with a shrug.

“Like atomic energy?” Hermione asked in surprise. “Is Alchemy that versatile?”

“It can be– it is an ancient art that has changed with the times, after all. The only reason it isn’t nearly as common is because it is incredibly dangerous, and requires quite a lot of focus and power to successfully commit to. It is not for the faint of heart,” Perinelle said warningly. “For instance, have you ever heard the tragedy of King Midas? The man was a gifted alchemist– but an accident rendered him incapable of touching anything without immediately transmuting it to solid gold. He lost his entire family that way, and died of starvation, helpless and alone. He is a terrible lesson all alchemists must learn to be incredibly careful in all they do.”

A shiver went up everyone’s spine at the thought.

…

Once the hour of Alchemy had concluded, Harry left the class feeling a bit overwhelmed. She’d done some auxillary research into Alchemy, but nothing nearly as in-depth as Perinelle expected them to learn. But it did present some _fascinating_ ideas. Nearly every avenue of magic could be supercharged through the art of Alchemy– Harry wasn’t sure she’d ever use all the aspects of Alchemy, but the idea of being able to hypercharge wards and charms around her home or protections on her friends and family was certainly within what she envisioned learning.

These thoughts carried with her through the lunch time block, and down to Care of Magical Creatures in the afternoon.

One thing she _immediately_ noted was that the large woman standing in the clearing was not Hagrid, but instead, Professor Grubbly-Plank, the part-time substitute. Harry was immediately worried for the half-giant groundskeeper. She looked at Hermione and Draco who both gave shrugs. Hagrid was probably better served being nowhere near the school right now, with the half-cocked Ministry official looking for any reason to start a putsch against the Headmaster.

The lesson was pretty benign, mostly focusing on bowtruckles. If Harry had to be _completely honest_, she was far happier around Muggle animals– cows, sheep, horses, the like. One could take the girl out of the country, but not the country out of the girl. Magical creatures were often too dangerous for her blood, and required even more attention. She remembered the Care professor before Hagrid had started– the man was missing most of his limbs and had skin grafts everywhere. Hagrid was far more resilient, but even he would show up in the Great Hall missing patches of beard, and having his robes shredded by whatever creature of the week he’d dug up for his class to look at.

It was this resiliency that assured Harry that Hagrid would be fine.

She hoped.

…

After a couple of days, falling into a pattern was easy– though on Thursday morning, as she was eating breakfast, Neville had appeared behind her, holding a letter.

“Gran’s sent me a letter– you should read it,” Neville said dryly.

> My dear grandson,
> 
> I once again must congratulate you on becoming the fifth-year prefect at Hogwarts. Your father and mother would be most proud of you doing your duty for the good of the family, Hogwarts, and helping the Ministry for Magic achieve their goals in breathing new life into Hogwarts as an institution. I must emphasize your need to cooperate with Madame Umbridge as she unveils new changes in the coming days. As well, please inform your dear cousins that they must be very careful as well.
> 
> Dumbledore’s reign at Hogwarts, as lofty as it has been, will be coming to an end sooner rather than later. It is perhaps time we all became accustomed to the new order, and do our best to make accommodations for it.
> 
> With love, Gran

Harry narrowed her eyes as she read the letter. Augusta Longbottom was never a woman who beat around the bush– and her language was far too reconciliatory and loyalist to be anything less than absolutely questionable at best. However, the thing Harry picked up on the most was the emphasis on new changes coming in the near future.

“Do you know anything about what your Gran is talking about, Neville?”

“No,” Neville said quietly. “But whatever it is, Gran felt the need to give me a warning. We need to be prepared.”

“I’m aware. Let Ron know the meeting will be held Friday after dinner.”

Neville nodded quietly, accepted the letter back and walked back to his seat.

Harry let out an annoyed breath and shook her head. Things were getting serious quick, she’d have to run some interference and get to organizing fast.


	16. Army of the Slumbering Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hogwarts continues to undergo great change, and battle lines become drawn...

Harry, of course, seemed to be rather prophetic when things like this were set to occur. While she was not present at the time, apparently a fistfight had erupted between Roger Davies, the Head Boy and senior Ravenclaw prefect, and Fred Weasley after Roger had made some rather coloured remarks about Harry. Umbridge had almost immediately entered the scene, and had given Fred a week’s detention for fighting, and let Davies off without even a slap on the wrist. To that end, Friday morning greeted everyone with a rather sizable notice adorning the information board of each and every common room.

> **From the Office of the Minister for Magic**
> 
> **By executive decree of Minister Cornelius O. Fudge, O.M. 1st Class**
> 
> **EDUCATIONAL DECREE NO.23**
> 
> **UNDERSTANDING there exists a perceptible decline in quality of education and discipline among the student body of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, I, as of this date, 8 September 1995, hereby appoint Dolores Jane Umbridge to the office of Head Inquisitor of Hogwarts, with all powers invested therein, effective immediately.**

Harry frowned– what _was_ the High Inquisitor exactly, and what general purpose did it serve? She could gleam from the straight intent that it placed Dolores Umbridge in some position of leverage over the staff. She’d need to do a little side-research. The library should contain some information, more in-depth than the standard Hogwarts, A History would provide.

After a quick breakfast, avoiding the smug and self-satisfied Umbridge, who seemed to be wanting to burn holes in Harry’s head with the glare she was levelling her way– Harry made her way up to the library.

“Well, if it isn’t one of my favourite Slytherins,” Madame Pince said wryly as Harry entered the room. “It’s far too early for you to be here, Miss Potter. Shouldn’t you be heading to class?”

“Inquisitor Umbridge has banned me from taking NEWT-level Defence,” Harry said as she shrugged her shoulders. “I’ve decided to spend my mornings doing some alternative scholarly approaches. Do you think you could point me towards any books that may contain information about the office of High Inquisitor?”

Madame Pince gave her a raised eyebrow before smirking. “Always prepared, aren’t you? Of course, Miss Potter.”

She waved her wand and a database, similar to the one in the Department of Records, manifested itself in front of her. Frowning slightly, she did a few motions with her wand before nodding, and casting a second incantation. From where Harry was standing, a yellow line appeared on the ground, running into the depths of the library. Thanking the woman, Harry followed the line deep into the library’s tomes and withdrew the book from the shelf. _Hogwarts Administrative Practices, 1701-1901_ written by Sirius Black II stared back at her. Walking back to one of the many free desks, Harry plopped the book down and began to comb through it for information about the High Inquisitor.

Eventually, she found what she was looking for.

> The office of **High Inquisitor** is an uncommon one, typically left vacant for long periods of time. Hogwarts predates the Ministry for Magic by hundreds of years– with the Charter of Hogwarts being promulgated in the late 10th century, and the Charter of Liberties for All Wixen being promulgated by public acclaim in 1386. However, during the transitionary period in which the Statute of Secrecy was formally implemented after being ratified by the ICW, Hogwarts’ Headmaster and Board of Regents agreed to permit the creation of the office of High Inquisitor, to serve as a means of government oversight in the inner machinations of Hogwarts. This office is technically subservient to the Headmaster and their Deputy but has privilege over all other department heads and Heads of House.
> 
> In history, the office has only been filled in times of great circumstance, or in a time where the Headmaster is considered incapable of governing without the assistance of Ministry oversight. Traditionally, the office is left vacant and is usually only filled by Ministers with agendas to modify Hogwarts’ charter. The last time this was done was in 1787, in which High Inquisitor Alastair Potter revoked previous first-generation wixen restrictions, including permitting them to be appointed to Prefect, Head Student, and the position of Tenured Professor…

“Show me Alastair Potter,” She said curiously, waving the Elder Wand over the book. It suddenly flipped to show a moving, silent portrait of her presumed ancestor. The man clearly bore resemblance to the family. The caption beneath his photograph, and the biography in the margins indicated that he served as High Inquisitor for close to fifty years before his retirement. She frowned– there did not seem to be a term limit specifically on the role, and they seemed to be randomly appointed. It seemed, almost, that the office was usually kept vacant out of deferential respect to the Headmaster’s autonomy and technical independence.

A frustrating legal hold-up, to be certain.

…

In the realm of passing fancy, another thing bought Harry’s attention.

“Hey, Harry,” Blaise said that very evening in the Slytherin commons. “You should see this.”

Harry looked up from the book she was reading and blinked at the sight of Blaise holding a writhing chocolate frog in one hand, and a card in the other.

“What is it, Blaise?” Harry asked curiously. “Did you get a rare card?”

“No, actually– I guess they just put out the latest batch of cards, they only do it once in a while… look at it,” He said, handing the card over to Harry, who accepted it and flipped it around.

Her breath hitched in her throat at the sight of a shy, bespectacled young man from the waist up, wearing a red jumper. His green eyes were bright, and his skin unblemished saved for the jagged, wispy lightning scar. “_Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived_” was emblazoned underneath the animated portrait, who looked up at Harry with a brilliant, if not a little sad, smile.

> _Harry Potter is the only known survivor of the Killing Curse, coinciding with his defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named on 31 October 1981. While coming from an illustrious background of potioneers given his ancestors’ responsibility for Skele-Gro, Pepperup and Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion, Mr. Potter has well-reputed achievements of his own._
> 
> _He is the youngest Seeker in Hogwarts History, achieving the position as a walk-on in his second year at Hogwarts in 1992, was responsible for the apprehension of his parents’ betrayer, Peter Pettigrew, in 1993, and was the Champion of the Tri-School Wixen Tournament in 1994, despite objections from the Ministry for Magic._
> 
> _Currently, Mr. Potter attends Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and is a member of the Slytherin House._

“I don’t know if I should be thankful that the whole ‘survived the killing curse’ thing is one line or be offended that they dug up my entire life like this,” Harry said dryly. “I’m a little put off they misgender me throughout the entire fucking thing.”

The version of herself in the card seemed to agree, and nodded vehemently, showing displeasure at the male form of address.

“It’s better than the original one they made of you– you’ve seen it, right?” Blaise asked.

“You mean the one where it’s literally an infant with green eyes and a scar and the card spends the entire length of it babbling on about this heroic young miracle child and how he is Merlin reincarnate? Yes, I’ve got a few of those in my own personal collection. Along with all the books they’ve published of me. It’s flattering but kind of gross,” Harry said with annoyance evident on her face.

“My favourite’s _Harry Potter and the Necromancer’s Apprentice_,” Blaise said idly, earning looks from the people around him. “What? None of you lot’ve _ever_ read a Potter book before? You call yourselves wix…”

“Necromancer’s Apprentice was a weird one,” Harry said with a grin on her face. “It got me all wrong! I don’t have a thing for _blondes_, thank you, I have a thing for…”

Harry suddenly grabbed the distracted Hermione around the waist and pulled the girl on top of her, causing the girl in question to shriek in surprise.

“curly-haired bookworms!” Harry proclaimed as she started kissing Hermione silly.

“Oh god, please stop,” Blaise said. “You too need to come with a warning label or something,”

Harry fixed Blaise with a half-lidded look, and he grinned back at her.

“Harry, that wasn’t funny!” Hermione said, glaring at her girlfriend. “You scared the devil out of me!”

“Sorry, love, I can’t help myself, you’re just too cute,” Harry purred at her girlfriend.

…

On Friday night, once the first, second and third years were safely tucked in bed, away from the din of upper years in the common room, Harry felt ready to start. With Hermione, Draco and Pansy flanking her, she’d transfigured up a small dais so she could address the crowd of students. Shooting off some sparks over everyone’s head with her wand, she tucked it into her robes and smiled.

“Good evening, everyone. I’m glad you could make it to our first meeting,” Harry said. “Many of you have been asking what exactly the Knights of Slytherin is, and what our role will be this year. The Knights are intended to be a society of mutual aid– providing help and protection to our fellow students against the Ministry’s interference. Many of you have already seen Madame Umbridge’s new Educational Decree no.23, granting her unprecedented power and authority. The last time that a High Inquisitor was appointed to these very halls was well over two-hundred years ago, with my forefather, Alastair Potter serving for _fifty years,_”

Murmuring broke out at that and Harry motioned for quiet.

“This is a crucial hour for us. It is _here_ that we can prove that Slytherin House is not the house of bitter, dark, hate. Some of you may still dislike first-generation wix, but I will point this out to you: _Lex iniusta non est lex_.”

“An unjust law is no law at all?” one of the fourth years said, blinking. “What do you mean by that, Harry?”

“If tomorrow, the Ministry said that all witches were required to marry two men to breed more wizards– and passed said law in the Wizengamot, would this be a just law?”

Silence reigned, and Harry raised her eyebrow.

“The law was passed with no consultation for those who would be affected– the law would remove basic human rights and freedoms from you.”

The girls did not like the sound of that, and their expressions darkened.

“Our ambitions should be to grow beyond the mundane, to grow beyond the limitations that are set for us by scared old men and women. We should not permit laws which are unjust to dictate to us how to live our lives. To that effect, I have constituted this organization to _protect_ each other, and those younger than us. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw are out for blood this year, that I can guarantee– I will not have my first year Slytherins _hurt_ because of petty grudges.”

Murmurings of understanding rippled through the crowd.

“And it is likely that Madame Umbridge, with her ultimate goal to destroy the reputations of myself and Albus Dumbledore, will take aim at Slytherin House by proxy of association.”

“How is that fair?” A sixth year protested. “We were here before you were!”

“Vengeance isn’t fair nor is it pretty,” Harry said blandly.

“That, and well, what was our ultimate destiny going to be anyway?” Pansy said. “Most of us would’ve been dead in a couple years when the Dark Lord and Ministry get into their slap fight– most of you would have been pressed into joining your parents as Death Eaters– most of you may very well _still_ be called upon to do that.”

Several people in the crowd looked unhappy at the idea.

“Harry has managed to change what it means to be one of us. For the first time in… what, Harry, twenty-five years? Slytherin House has more students coming into it than ever. We got seventy-five percent of all first-generation students. The future of Slytherin _is_ from the mundane-born, and without them, we’ll wither away and die on the vine.”

“It will take generations before Slytherin’s reputation is healed completely,” Harry said. “But we can start today and hope that our children carry on our task.”

“So, what does all this mean?”

“We’ll be working with our sister organization in Gryffindor to protect all of our housemates, we’ll be working with those in the other two houses who do not follow the party line and are ostracized for refusing to obey. It has _also_ been brought to my attention that Madame Umbridge’s Defence classes are absolutely worthless. Therefore, I am still in the works of constituting an organization to learn defensive arts. However, I must firmly indicate any student who joins will be expected to not use these skills in the name of the Dark Lord. Oaths of loyalty will be expected.”

That got murmuring out into the crowd.

“What should we do to protest the Ministry’s actions?” Someone suggested.

“Do what the Weasley twins do! Vandalize things, make clear our displeasure!” Another voice added in.

“We need a symbol for that,” Blaise said, folding his arms.

“What about a circle roundlet with Potter’s lightning bolt in it?” Theo Nott suggested, thinking about it.

“Absolutely not!” Hermione cried. “That’s the symbol of the Muggle equivalent of Death Eaters! Absolutely not!”

“Oh, yeah, that probably wouldn’t go over well,” Harry murmured. “I’d also like to avoid using snakes in my logo, mostly to avoid any more overt parallels to The Dork Lord.”

“What about a sun bisected by the Elder Wand?” Hermione suggested.

Murmurings of agreement came from the crowd.

“It’s settled, then. Everyone, please be on the lookout and prepared to end bullying where you see it. For those of you whose parents are Death Eaters, please remain behind so we may speak privately. The rest of you, thank you for your time this evening.”

…

One of the associated ‘powers’ a Hogwarts High Inquisitor possessed was inspecting professors for quality. Harry didn’t so much as bat an eye when the door opened to Professor Flitwick’s class on that following Monday, admitting the pink menace in all her faux-regal stature. She sighed and flipped through her Charms book to where she’d left her last bookmark. The class, which had been at a dull roar as Flitwick prepared for class, fell to a respectful silence.

Harry had to give the woman credit; she knew how to quiet a crowd.

“Good afternoon, Filius,” Umbridge said, causing Harry to narrow her eyes. It was incredibly rude to address someone of Professor Flitwick’s stature with merely his personal name and no honorific. “You received my note, I trust? Giving the time and date for your… inspection?”

“Of course, Madam Inquisitor,” Professor Flitwick said dryly, before gesturing to the place he’d set up for her to observe his class. When she’d finally settled down, Flitwick addressed the class at-large. “Now, class, as we have been doing revision up to this point on previous charms, today would be a great time to review the summoning spell. Does anybody in this room know the proper incantation and wand movement?”

Harry raised her hand first, and Flitwick brightened considerably.

“Miss Potter?” He asked, grinning at her.

“The incantation sir, is _Accio,_” She said, standing to her feet. She drew her wand out. “_Accio Apple!_”

The apple that had been sitting on Flitwick’s desk shot out like a cannon to her, and she snatched it in her hands with Seeker reflexes.

“Wonderful! Five points to Slytherin,” Flitwick said. “I am going to ask all of you to pair up into partnerships and perform the summoning spell with the feathers you have on your desks. The general goal is to have it move back and forth between you.”

The room was soon cleared of desks, and the students began to go back and forth. Harry and Hermione had ended up within earshot of Professor Flitwick and the Inquisitor, who was taking him to task, seeking information. The questions were _intensely_ personal in nature, primarily focused around Flitwick’s parentage, no doubt given the fact he was half-Goblin.

As soon as class dismissed, and the students began to leave, including the Inquisitor, Harry’s jaw set in defiance as she looked at Hermione.

“I’ll catch up with you in Potions. Snape won’t do anything to me,” She muttered. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Hermione gently took Harry’s hand in hers and squeezed it in comfort as she left the room.

“Professor Flitwick?” She asked as she looked at the surly half-Goblin professor carefully.

“Yes, Miss Potter, what is it?” He said, looking exhausted.

“That wasn’t right, what she did to you,” Harry said quietly. “I know it isn’t my fault, but I’m sorry.”

“That’s quite alright,” He muttered. “I’ve known for a long time that people like that foul woman have it out for me because of who I am. I’d rather she go after me rather than anybody else.”

“I just wanted to tell you that I’m here for you if… anything comes of it,” Harry said. “I promise you.”

“You’re a noble soul, Harry,” Flitwick said softly, a smile on his face. “You would have done well in Gryffindor; I can see that. Just keep your head up, and your nose clean– trust me, there is nothing she can do to me that I can’t repay in spades.”

Harry smiled wanly and left the room in a rush to get to Potions.

When she arrived, she and Professor Snape made very brief eye contact. In that moment, she allowed the memories of what Umbridge had said, and her conversation with Flitwick to filter forth, allowing Snape to read them clearly– she was talented in Occlumency, he was talented in Legilimency, they both rather enjoyed trying to get one over on the other in a way to keep their reflexes tight.

“Take the free desk space, Potter, and get started,” He said briskly, and Harry complied.

…

She did not see Umbridge in Potions, but as soon as class had started in Alchemy, Umbridge had admitted herself into the classroom.

“Professor Westlake, I assume you have received my notice of the time and date of your inspection?” Umbridge asked in that same saccharine voice.

Perinelle fixed her with a glare. “Of course, Inquisitor Umbridge. However, I must warn you that this is an extremely dangerous subject– and therefore I must ask you not interfere with anything you do not understand.”

Perinelle then turned to the assembled class. "Our discussions last week centred around the theoretical. Today, we are going to be doing something a little more practical. Can someone tell me why Muggle technology does not work in areas of high magical density?

Harry raised her hand.

“Miss Potter?”

“Magic is essentially distilled chaos, isn’t it? It sort of works in the exact opposite of Muggle electricity, which is purposeful. Magic leaves technology in a state of superposition.”

“Excellent! Superposition is an important subject. Magic is, fundamentally speaking, a form of energy that can be harnessed in many ways. The most common way, the way we do it on these fair isles, is by using a wand. But this is not the only way in which magic can be harnessed. Magic can be imbued in natural objects, such as druidic stones, objects, such as the Ark of the Covenant, or be imbued in objects through alchemic sorcery or runes.”

“_Hem hem_”

Perinelle raised her eyebrow and glared at Umbridge. “Yes, Inquisitor? Is there something you’d like to interject?”

“I’m afraid I must ask _what precisely_ is the point of this class? Muggle technology has no place among wizarding society.”

“Isn’t _Wizarding Wireless_ governed by the Ministry?” Perinelle asked with her eyebrow raised. “Broomsticks are a muggle invention, we merely brought them into our society and charmed them to fly. Muggle technology does inevitably make its way into our society, madame, and learning how to deal with that is a fundamental part of using alchemy with charming.”

Umbridge turned slightly red, before going back to her notes.

“I have brought with me today,” Perinelle said. “Something small. A Muggle battery-operated toy. While not a very useful implementation of what we’ll be learning, it is a great starting point. While we cannot use batteries due to the inherent incompatibilities, we can power these objects with magic.”

Casting her wand about some, the object soon sprang to life without word spoken.

“Unlike other forms of charming on Muggle objects, Alchemic Charming is typically permanent.”

“What fundamentally separates the two concepts other than that?” Draco asked.

“When we charm a Muggle object to do something– like a normal person would when converting a car or a bicycle into an enchanted object– the object will not work nearly as well as one would expect. It may develop quirks, a personality, or even be so problem-laden it becomes impossible to operate under normal circumstances. By using alchemy, one can permanently convert a Muggle object into a Magical object, allowing you to treat it like any other piece of magical equipment. Look at our previous example of Wizarding wireless radios. They’re fundamentally Muggle radios from many generations back, merely augmented and enchanted– due to the few numbers of alchemists still around, it has become harder and harder to find replacements– hence why they’re such a rare thing to have in your home. Of course, you could simply enchant a radio you purchase out in the Muggle world, but it won’t last nearly as long as a properly enchanted one.”

The lesson carried on for the remainder of the hour, with Umbridge looking more and more angry and affronted at the insinuation that there was not a tremendous gulf between Muggle technology and things magic could do. Harry knew exactly what Perinelle was doing. A woman who had seen centuries’ worth of kings and tyrants come and go would not shudder once in the presence of _this woman_.

…

“Madame Inquisitor,” Dumbledore said irritably, glaring at the Ministry stooge. “Professor Westlake is one of the foremost modern experts in Alchemy. She is completely correct in her comparison of Muggle technology with fundamental alchemy. That is _nowhere close_ to a justification for sacking her, that is merely an expression of your own biases. I would ask you _control yourself._”

Umbridge huffed, before drawing herself up to her most regal, but Dumbledore cut her down.

“And Hogwarts’ charter does not forbid people of mixed birth from participating in the school. Filius Flitwick has served this school for years and if I were to let you sack him, I’d have a _riot_ on my hands. You were tasked with _inspecting_, and I have yet to see the remainder of the staff being audited. Do not return here unless you have something tangible to give me.”

Umbridge, whose face had turned an ugly shade of puce at the Headmaster’s _callous_ dismissal, stormed out of the room.

Shaking his head, Dumbledore poured himself a finger of liquor. “That blasted woman is a _menace_,”

Fawkes couldn’t help but agree and trilled at Dumbledore suggestively.

“No, we can’t just _kill her,_ Fawkes. That’s not how it works.”

Another trill.

“Oh, believe me, I’d like to, and Perinelle would help me make it look like a bloody accident.”

Another knock on the door sounded, and Minerva McGonagall entered, a rather harrowed looking Fred Weasley behind her, clutching his hand.

“Minerva? Mister Weasley? What’s wrong?”

The purple-faced Minerva tugged Fred forward and placed his hand on the Headmaster’s desk– _“I will not commit acts of violence”_ etched into his skin, gleaming with fresh blood.

Dumbledore stared at it dumbly for a few minutes. “That woman has to be touched in the head,” He muttered.

“Mister Weasley, would you mind telling us… exactly what happened?” Dumbledore asked, his eyes having lost their usual glimmer as he leaned in.

“She assigned me detention after I got into a fist-fight with that git Roger Davies,” Fred muttered.

“Mister Weasley! Language!” Minerva admonished, and Fred sighed.

“Roger Davies. He’s the Head Boy, y’know? He was running his mouth off about Harry, calling her a whole assortment of really foul things—things that aren’t appropriate for good company, you know? I told him to put up or shut up– as soon as we got into it, The _Inquisitor_,” Fred said, his voice full of sarcasm, “descended on the scene and gave me a week’s detention for fighting, but let Davies go off without even a warning. I wasn’t going to worry about it too much, but then she started using bloody blood quills on me. Ron told me if I didn’t come talk to Professor McGonagall, he’d tell Harry.”

“Why Harry?” Dumbledore asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Have you ever _met_ Harry Potter? She’d probably maim Umbridge within an inch of her life if she found out just what this woman was doing. Then she’d go after Roger next for insulting her like that, then the Minister next, and anybody who was standing in her way.”

“What are we going to do, Albus?” Minerva asked, looking worried.

“First, we’re going to have Mister Weasley’s wounds treated with dittany, perhaps something stronger if it tries to scar over,” Dumbledore said. “Second… we will talk about what we _can_ do to reduce her grip hold,”

A quick summons of Madame Pomfrey had her quickly escorting Fred down to the hospital ward, after assuring her that they were working on trying to deal with the guilty party.

Once the student was gone, Minerva fixed Albus with a look. “We can’t just let her keep doing it.”

“What would you have me do? Kill her?”

“Make it look like a bloody accident, then! You’re Albus fucking Dumbledore! You’ve stared down Dark Lords and made them tuck tail and run! You’re telling me you’re afraid of some four-foot-eleven woman from the Ministry for Magic?!”

“If she dies here, it’ll draw an incredible amount of suspicion down on us– the Ministry would reach for every opportunity to blame me for it!” Albus said tersely in response. “I can’t sack her, I can’t remove her as Inquisitor, I can’t just make her disappear one day in an accident; There is, in fact, very little I can do other than-”

He stopped, looking thoughtful. “Ah… you know, I might have an idea?”

Raising his wand and casting a Patronus, it shimmered into the familiar form of a phoenix.

“Harry, please come to my office at once,” Dumbledore said, and the Patronus leaped off towards Harry’s chambers. The relative late hour would guarantee that she and Miss Granger were in their rooms, if not sleeping.

Albus raised a hand to hold off any questions from Minerva as he opened the door with his wand and sat, waiting.

After some time of waiting in silence, the door suddenly closed with a silent click, and Harry popped out from underneath her invisibility cloak, regarding the two with warmth.

“Good evening, Headmaster; Mum,” Harry said, grinning. “What was so important you had me running around the corridors after curfew?”

Dumbledore, as quick as he could, raised privacy wards and silencing wards all around the room before sighing.

“Quite a few things, Harry,” Dumbledore said warily. “We just had Mister Fred Weasley in here. It seems that Inquisitor Umbridge is using _blood quills_ in her detentions.”

“Blood quills? You mean those things the goblins use for contracts? How did she get her grubby hands on those? And how exactly is she using them?”

“Forcing them to write lines,” Dumbledore said. “Repeatedly, causing their skin to burst open with their own handwriting. Branding them with her sadism.”

“I’ll kill her,” Harry said, eyes narrowing.

“No, that is the last thing you’ll do,” Dumbledore said, looking uncomfortable. “Don’t let the Elder Wand dictate to you when you feel the time has come to resort to such… _drastic_ measures. That time will come, but I should like to hope it will not be for any time soon, nor on such a useless target as _Dolores Umbridge_.”

He shook his head. “No, Harry, I tell you about this because I want you to help coordinate a means to prevent students from getting detentions,” He said, looking at her over his glasses.

“How so?” She asked.

“You’ve got most of the Gryffindors and Slytherins in your… group, correct?”

“Correct,” Harry said neutrally. “We’ve got _all_ of Slytherin House and a handful of Gryffindors. Mostly people who are in Ron’s friend circle. There are quite a few Gryffindors who don’t trust me because I’m a Slytherin– the House Rivalry persists despite all my efforts.”

“The idea I had was having your students travel in small groups to limit their exposure to potentially dangerous situations– as well as ensuring they know proper ways of sneaking about to avoid direct conflict with the Inquisitor. Unfortunately, not everyone is able to avoid taking her class like you are, but there are a great number of ways to skin a boomslang, I suppose.”

“We can figure something out,” Harry said. “If I may be honest with you, sir?”

Dumbledore nodded his assent. “You have more than earned my trust and respect, Harry. You have managed to do what even I could not– best Tom in a duel.”

“Thank you, sir,” Harry said with a blush. “We… have been formulating some ideas on civil disobedience. The Weasley twins have been very helpful in coming up with ideas on harmless pranks and protests. It may involve minor vandalism.”

“That should be interesting. I would say that is terribly unfair to Argus, but he’s just as sadistic as Umbridge is. Did you know he tries to get corporal punishment legalized at Hogwarts _every year_? I keep having to explain to him that beating children doesn’t make them not misbehave,” Dumbledore said with a sigh.

Minerva looked at her daughter carefully before a determined look crossed her face.

“How can we help?”

…

The Great Hall was bustling with students preparing for class. While food was being consumed, there was a distinct and obvious absence at the head table. Dolores Umbridge was usually quite prompt, looking perfectly prim and proper upon her high perch surveying the student body like some kind of malevolent deity. This morning, however, she seemed to be quite preoccupied by something.

Half-way through the breakfast period, the door opened and Umbridge walked through the door, looking like she’d just been run over by a lorry. Her face was bright pink, and she stormed her way to the Gryffindor tables.

“I know you two ruffians are behind this! I’ll have you expelled for vandalism!” She said, laying into the Weasley twins who were eating breakfast.

“May I _help_ you, Dolores?” Minerva said as she descended from her position at the Staff Table, eyebrows raised.

“None of your concern, Minerva,” Umbridge said, before Minerva stepped in between her and the Weasley twins.

“You shouting at two of my lions is _none of my concern,_ madam? I believe you’re quite mistaken. You may be here at the behest of the Ministry, but that does not entitle you to shout at students with baseless accusations and _threaten them_ in such a manner.”

Dolores’ face turned even more red as she huffed. “_Someone_ has turned my classroom into a swamp, and my private quarters into an apiary!”

“How unfortunate,” Minerva said with a frown. “And what sort of evidence do you have that it is Messrs Weasley whom are responsible?”

“It’s fairly obvious! These troublemakers and their little _pranks_,” Dolores hissed.

“Dolores, you may not harass students in such a manner,” Albus said over the din of students who were glaring daggers at the Defence professor.

“Well if these two are not responsible, then who might be? Believe me, I will _find_ the culprits. That, I assure you, and then they will answer to a higher power for such a grievous assault on a Ministry official,” She turned on heel to leave, only for her heel to suddenly give out, causing her to fall to the floor amid raucous laughter.

Face tinted in a most charming shade of purple again, Dolores scrambled to her feet and fled the Great Hall and retreated to her quarters, where, miraculously, the annoying birds and humid air had vanished, as if… _by magic._

The woman remained paranoid the entire day, shooting murderous looks at each student that passed her by in the corridors.

…

As the days began to flow by, and September dragged on towards October, Harry noticed that nearly every one of her professors seemed on edge all the time as Umbridge did her best to assert her authority. Second-hand from the remaining students in Divination, Umbridge had apparently gotten into a catty argument with Professor Trelawney and had effectively called her a fraud in front of the entire class.

Things had not fared much better in Care of Magical Creatures, where back-handed remarks about the then-absent Hagrid, combined with implications that such things were beneath “proper-bred people” had left most of the class seeing a mist of red in front of their vision at the sight of pink.

The combined efforts of the staff and Harry’s mutual-aid organization had done well, preventing the High Inquisitor from passing out too many detentions. Some still fell through the cracks, and Harry certainly felt sad for that—but sometimes there were too many people to save, and not enough manpower to save them all.

Mid-month brought yet another unpleasant sight.

> **By DECREE of THE HOGWARTS HIGH INQUISITOR**
> 
> **EDUCATIONAL DECREE NO.24**
> 
> **The use of magic to alter one’s own physical appearance for any reason other than personal hygiene shall henceforth be prohibited. Any students found violating this policy shall result in detention or suspension of privileges at High Inquisitor’s determination.**

Harry knew the decree was aimed mostly at her—being one of the most visible transgender students in the school. Fortunately, Harry specifically kept her metamorphmagus powers on the down-low and had made only minimal changes to her appearance since the first of September to give the illusion of non-magical means of changing appearance. This decree had far-reaching effects, however, as it meant that a lot of girls’ beauty regimens were rendered against-school-policy.

It had been justified in the Daily Prophet as a “step towards reducing bullying at Hogwarts over physical appearance by levelling the playing field.”

It was to the surprise of everyone and to much ‘consternation’ that the very next day, Umbridge showed up to the Great Hall with a tremendous face full of pussy boils. How odd and mysterious!

A few days after Decree No.24 hit, Umbridge pushed another one out, this time taking aim at students’ personal lives.

> **By DECREE of THE HOGWARTS HIGH INQUISITOR**
> 
> **EDUCATIONAL DECREE NO.25**
> 
> **Public fraternization is henceforth prohibited on school grounds. Students may not stand within three feet of each other at all times, except at mealtimes or in the classroom. Violations of this policy shall result in a detention or suspension of privilege, to be determined by the High Inquisitor.**

This one seemed fit to take aim at romantic couples such as Harry and Hermione—or Draco and Ron, trying to force them to put distance between each other. Another attempt to break the morale of the public, though this one Harry largely left alone—it had been suggested to her to slip some Amortentia from Snape’s private stock into her tea, but Harry had pointedly rejected the idea—that came far too close to something morally outrageous than mere civil disobedience. If it got worse, then she’d consider doing something… _more_.

At the end of September, Harry finally felt confident enough to start reaching out feelers for a Defence Against the Dark Arts organization after Hermione had complained about it _again_ in private.

Despite her protestations that it was a terrible idea, the first meeting of the “Defence Association” as it was initially called was held in Hogsmeade on October 4th—in the Hog’s Head. Harry’s friendly relationship with Aberforth Dumbledore, as well as the fact Aberforth _was_ the Headmaster’s brother, would provide some kind of privacy for them, though Harry highly doubted it given how easily magic could be used to spy.

In attendance at the first meeting were literally every upper-year member of Slytherin house plus a couple third years who had tagged along despite being told not to. Gryffindor had sent some delegates, but this mostly comprised of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team plus extras. Ron had done his work but had only convinced so many people to join their cause.

It had been easy to explain—teach everyone Defence and prepare them for the war against the Dark Lord. It was an Army more than it was a Club.

Following the advice of Hermione, Harry had taken oaths of loyalty on a sheet of parchment, being sure to outline exactly what they were agreeing to. When it came down to it, the Slytherin population didn’t hesitate—better to be bound to Harry “Queen of the Light” Potter, than to Tom “Dark Lord Extraordinaire” Riddle.

To everyone’s surprise (except for Harry, who saw it coming from miles away), two days after that first meeting in The Hog’s Head, a new decree came down on top of them.

> **By DECREE of THE HOGWARTS HIGH INQUISITOR**
> 
> **EDUCATIONAL DECREE NO.26**
> 
> **UNDERSTANDING the need for order and discipline among the student body, HENCEFORTH, ON THIS DAY, 7 OCTOBER 1995, all student organizations, societies, teams, groups and clubs are henceforth disbanded.**
> 
> **An organization, society, team, group or club is hereby defined as a regular meeting of three or more students. Permission to re-form may be sought from the High Inquisitor, Prof. Dolores Umbridge.**
> 
> **No student organization, society, group, team, or club may exist without the knowledge and explicit approval of the High Inquisitor.**
> 
> **Any student found to have formed or participated in such an organization or group will be expelled.**

The publication of the decree had sent alarm through Slytherin House, but they were quickly silenced when Harry let loose a shrill sound from her wand.

“We were too bloody obvious about it. Of course, there’s going to be suspicion if literally every member of Slytherin House congregates around a pub—particularly if I’m involved. If you think this will bloody change anything, you’re wrong. We’re going to continue working on what I promised you in that meeting.”

“If we’re going to be an illegal underground organization, why don’t we have a cool name?” Theo suggested, smirking. “Life Eaters?”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that and not hex you into oblivion,” Harry said dryly.

“Army of the Slumbering Dragon,” Pansy suggested. “You know, the school motto. Don’t tickle a slumbering dragon.”

“I like that,” Hermione said with a grin. “The only alternative I had was Order of the Basilisk—you know, playing off of Order of the Phoenix?”

“I deeply respect and admire Headmaster Dumbledore, but I’d rather not tie myself wholesale to his organization. This will be solely my own creation, and if I need to take the fall for it, I will. Nobody else. Understood?” Harry asked, glaring at the room.

“Understood,” Everyone murmured.

“Now, Hermione has been working on a way to get messages to everyone, and she’s come up with some really promising results…”

…

Ginny looked at the note that had been palmed to her in the halls, along with the coin she rubbed between her fingers. The plan for this new Army was easy. Meetings would be held in the Chamber of Secrets, the one place that could not be accessed without Harry or Ginny standing there.

When meetings were scheduled and called, Ginny would lead the Gryffindors to the second-floor bathrooms and escort them into the Chamber. Harry, since she had a direct access to the Chamber via her own bedroom, the risk was far lower—Harry was apologetic, but there was little else she could do.

As far as plans went, this wasn’t that bad of one—getting to the second floor would be aided by the Gryffindor and Slytherin prefects, whom would help avoid the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff ones on their rounds.

Two days following the promulgation of Educational Decree No.26, the Army had their first meeting in the Chamber of Secrets. Harry had coordinated closely with Dobby and other house-elves at Hogwarts to provide refreshments for the students as they waited for the meeting to begin.

The students were in great awe at the sight of the Chamber of Secrets—a myth that was now a reality to them. The sight of Fatimah in the room, presiding over all the affairs like an Empress over her court was not lost on them.

“Potter… you can command that… thing?” One of them asked, voice close to cracking.

“She’s not a _thing_, her name is Fatimah. And I don’t command her—I speak to her, I’m her friend,” Harry said, shooting Fatimah a pleased smile.

“The rules with her are—don’t look her in the eye, you’ll be dead before you hit the ground, and mostly leave her alone. She’s not going to harm anyone here anyway.”

Shortly after curfew, Ginny arrived with her Gryffindor contingent, stepping through the bronze doors of the Chamber with a pleased smile on her face. The Gryffindors had lost their colour at the sight of Slytherin’s chamber, and the resting basilisk above them all.

Harry quickly explained the rules for being around Fatimah, before launching into her speech.

“We’re assembled here because the Ministry has decided that Tom Riddle Jr. has not returned from the choir invisible to wreak havoc on all of our lives. That we cannot be trusted with learning how to fight because there exist no more dark wizards, and that I am a filthy liar, a cheat, a scoundrel and a… well, the words go on and on, don’t they?” Harry said with a smirk.

“You are here to learn to fight and fight hard. I endeavour to teach you everything you need to pass your OWLs and NEWTs by the end of our time here together, and it is my hope that you take this experience to heart and learn deeply from it.”

After getting some initial confusion out of the way, Harry had them start on showing her exactly where they stood—and quickly sorted her students into groups based on strengths and weaknesses. She had them practice fundamentals of fifth year Defence (including the upper-years)—The stunning charm.

There were some hiccups (which were rectified by Dobby, ever the dutiful companion of Narcissa and on-loan to Harry ensuring there were fluffy pillows present before anybody was hurt), but the lesson went smoothly, with most of the class being able to cast a basic stunner by the end of one lesson.

“I would like to reiterate that there is more to Defence than just merely casting spells. Tell me, everyone—what is the best method of dealing with a potential confrontation with a dark wizard?”

“Tuck your tail between your legs and run!” Fred Weasley suggested, and Harry grinned.

“Good work, Fred. Correct,” Harry said, flicking the Elder Wand and sending some Muggle chocolates to him.

“The best defence is often tactical retreat. That may sound cowardly but consider the fact that when faced with overwhelming odds, it is deeply unlikely you will win. My success against the Dark Lord comes from the fact that I have studied rigorously and have been trained from extremely young to do higher-year tasks—and a great deal of luck.”

“Then what’s the point of all this?” A Gryffindor objected, looking quite cross.

“Simple—when the Ministry tries to shanghai you for not complying with whatever nonsense they cook up to keep people’s spirits down and suppress the truth, you can rise up and tell them you won’t listen to their nonsense. Will you win in a straight fight with an Auror? No—but as Mad-Eye Moody would say, a straight fight is a losing fight.”

“Use your advantages! Learn your strengths and use them to smash your chains and show people you won’t be so easily culled!”

A roar of cheer came up from the assembled crowd at the vigorous words, and Harry quieted them down to a bare simmer.

“Despite this being our first meeting, I am pleased to see that we have been able to accomplish something like a stunning spell. Hermione will forward you your meeting instructions for next week, and we will begin discussing the Disarming and Shielding charm.”

She clapped her hands, and the room quickly settled back to normal, no trace of there ever being an illegal organization present.

“Now, back to your dorms. We don’t want to be caught. Stay vigilant, and remember to follow your oath,” She said simply.

The first meeting had gone off without a hitch, and Harry was already wildly thinking of what she could share with her students next. She truly loved teaching, and hoped this would be merely the first of many opportunities to do it.


	17. All This And A Bucket of Racism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The changing moods, enabled by the forces of fascism and xenophobia have started to turn distaste to hatred, violence and racism...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains mild, contextual references to slurs.

Almost immediately after the first meeting of ‘The Army’, Harry decided to make a very public gesture of defiance against Professor Umbridge. Her hair had been long enough since she was in her second year at Hogwarts. One morning, she arrived in the Great Hall with a cleaned up look. Her hair had been ‘cropped’ down to shoulder-length, and was now ‘Weasley red’.

The number of eyes that fell on her as she entered the Great Hall that morning made her turn pink.

“Oh my god,” Hermione said as she caught sight of Harry. “You look wonderful, Harry!”

“Thanks,” Harry said, grinning ear to ear as she sat down at her usual spot next to Hermione and Draco.

“Well, what do we have here?” Fred Weasley interjected, causing Harry to crane her head to look up at the prankster twins. “It seems we have a sister that is unaccounted for, George.”

“Indeed, my dear brother,” George said with a nod. “I’m glad you’ve gotten into the family spirit, Harry. It just wouldn’t do for you to be an honorary Weasley and not have red hair.”

“Must keep the family pure,” Fred said with an amused snort.

“If I remember correctly there are quite a few people about to join the Weasley family who don’t have red hair, lads,” Harry said with a raised eyebrow. “And since when am I an honorary Weasley?”

“Since you saved our little sister,” Ron interjected from the Gryffindor table, flashing Harry an amused look. “A bit presumptuous of us, sure, but we’re sticking to it.”

“Well, I’m _honoured_, really,” Harry said, flipping her new hairstyle at them and winking.

The sound of someone clearing their throat again made Harry crane away from the twins to Professor Umbridge, who had once again descended from her perch to harass her.

“Mister Potter, may I remind you that altering one’s physical appearance with magic is prohibited under Educational Decree No.24? That’ll be a detention, I believe-”

“It’s not magic, madam,” Harry said with a raised eyebrow. “That rule does not include Muggle products acquired through owl post. Muggles have this thing called hair dye, which allows you to change your physical appearance without a wand.”

“School owls are not meant to be used for such frivolous things,” Umbridge admonished Harry.

“I didn’t use a school owl, madam. I used the personal owl of a friend of mine with their permission,” Harry retorted.

“Madam Umbridge, may I ask why you’re harassing one of my Slytherins?” Professor Snape’s voice floated in as he approached the pink-clad menace from behind. “As far as I am aware, Miss Potter has one of the most perfect disciplinary records at Hogwarts, and I do not appreciate you harassing her every time she enters the Great Hall for breakfast.”

He glanced at Harry, and a smile fluttered across his face. “You look tremendous, Miss Potter.”

“Thank you, sir,” Harry said brightly.

Umbridge fumed, and turned on heel and marched back to her perch at the staff table.

…

It didn’t take long for Umbridge to decide to show off that she had all the subtlety of a freight train.

> **By DECREE of THE HOGWARTS HIGH INQUISITOR**
> 
> **EDUCATIONAL DECREE NO.27**
> 
> **DUE TO CONCERNS OVER POTENTIAL CIRCULATION OF ILLEGAL OR PROHIBITED CONTRABAND, AND TO ENSURE THE SAFETY AND SECURITY OF ALL STUDENTS AND FACULTY**, ALL STUDENTS MUST SUBMIT TO RANDOM OWL POST CHECKS. FAILURE TO COMPLY WILL RESULT IN EXPULSION.

Harry had simply rolled her eyes in exasperation, and had changed over to using Dobby as her courier service fully, informing Narcissa of the new educational decree. While Hogwarts students by and large were typically not permitted to bring their elves with them for obvious reasons, Harry, for her compassion, had a great reputation among the house elves– and Dobby was often seen as a precious young elfling by some of the senior elves, who turned a blind eye to the technical violation of long-standing school policies on Harry’s behalf.

However, Harry’s thoughts went back to Decree No.26, which was the biggest spanner tossed into her plans. But she had a brilliant idea– to make the meetings of the Army as irregular as she could. She had originally planned the preliminary schedule around Quidditch practices and matches, but after Umbridge had very publically disbanded all organizations and clubs, the Slytherin and Gryffindor houses had come to a rather strange sort of agreement to not reconstitute either of their Quidditch teams for the foreseeable future, primarily doing so upon the urging of the Army leadership and Madam Hooch (who had serious safety concerns).

The argument itself had been easy to make—Quidditch was a physical sport. Bludgers, as well as the occasional lacklustre duel between two hot-headed players, as well as flaring house rivalries was a recipe for disaster in any way you put it. By removing Gryffindor and Slytherin from the running from that bare-knuckled brawl, it would keep all members of the house safe, and it would not give Umbridge any ammunition to label any member of those houses as “violent” and harass or blame them for anything.

The meetings through the month of October dealt with primarily learning things like the disarming charm, improving spell efficiency, and even some Muggle brawling (“The best way to throw a wizard off their game is to fight like a Muggle. It’s not clean, but it almost certainly will distract them long enough for you to get off a couple shots. Real fighting isn’t like practice duelling, I’ll tell you that much.”)

Harry had insisted on not teaching anybody anything too overly dangerous, but she did want the members of the Army to be able to fight back when put under siege, either by an overzealous prosecutorial Ministry, or a genocidal Voldemort and his legion of Death Munchers.

While managing the Army meetings, she was overseeing the coordination of civil disobedience and mass vandalism campaigns with the help of the Weasley twins, Hermione and Tracey. It typically involved shutting down whole corridors with some Weasley product, sabotaging the Inquisitor, and gaslighting her in hopes she’d break down and run back to the Ministry.

Unable to ensnare Harry’s friends and allies consistently, and feeling like she did not exert enough control over the prefects (which she didn’t—the prefects reported directly to their Head of House and the Headmaster, the Inquisitor’s role in the hierarchy effectively did not exist), Umbridge promulgated Educational Decree No. 28 in early November.

> **By DECREE of THE HOGWARTS HIGH INQUISITOR**
> 
> **EDUCATIONAL DECREE NO.28**
> 
> **TO ENSURE ADHERENCE TO ALL RULES, BYLAWS, PROCLAMATIONS AND DECREES SET FORTH BY THE MINISTRY FOR MAGIC AND THE CHARTER OF HOGWARTS, AND TO AID IN THE ENFORCEMENT OF DISCIPLINE AND TO PREVENT FAVORITISM**, STUDENTS MAY BE SELECTED BY THE HIGH INQUISITOR TO SERVE AS MEMBERS OF THE ‘INQUISITORIAL SQUAD’.

The decree gave no mention as to the real power of the Inquisitorial Squad, but Harry did notice going into the Great Hall that Saturday, that several members of the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff houses bore the black and silver “I” badge on their lapels, and nobody from Gryffindor or Slytherin did.

She took her seat and shook her head. “She’s effectively made the prefects powerless,” Harry noted as she buttered a slice of toast. “Inquisitors can effectively do what they want with the High Inquisitor’s blessing, even if a Head of House protests.”

“You can see, though, Flitwick and Sprout aren’t happy,” Hermione murmured to Harry, at which point the redhead glanced at the staff table. Flitwick had a stormy face, and was glaring at the students in Ravenclaw who had the Inquisitorius badge on– Sprout looked much the same way in Hufflepuff.

“Notice how everyone who got a badge has had some form of negative interaction with you?” Draco noted. “Except for Fletchley– he got passed over, probably because of his blood status.”

“Ernie MacMillan’s got one, Susan Bones hasn’t, though.”

“Umbridge wouldn’t dare– Bones would rat her out so fast,” Harry murmured. “She’s being strategic, picking purebloods and half-bloods whose families aren’t in positions of relevance, and hoping they’ll grind an axe against me and mine. What a bitch,” Harry muttered.

Though, despite the establishment of the Inquisitorial Squad, the situation did not change much. There had been a couple attempts to catch students unawares, but the presence of _actual_ Prefects, and Professors who were very much not pleased with the intrusion on the school’s day-to-day operations lead to the organization largely not enforcing _school rules_, but instead doling out detentions for minor infractions.

Harry seemed to be the only person that managed to evade detention, though it was a very close thing a couple times, with some Inquisitors going out of their way to stalk Harry from class to class.

…

**Early December 1995**

“Potter, shouldn’t you be in class? That will be detention for two weeks.”

Harry looked up from her tome in the Hogwarts Library, eyebrow raised at Marietta Edgecombe. “I haven’t got a class right now, so I don’t know how on Earth I could be truant,” She said, bewildered.

“Fifth year Slytherins have Professor Umbridge in this time-block, that’s an extra week for lying, as well as thirty points from Slytherin,” She said haughtily, causing Harry to roll her eyes.

“I know you’re unaccustomed to power and lording it over others, but do you mind doing it elsewhere? I’m a bit busy studying, and you’re bothering me.”

Edgecombe turned red. “Don’t speak to me that way, you poof-”

“That’s quite enough!” Came a sharp, female interjection. Madame Pince descended upon the two like a bat from a belfry, and eyed Inquisitor Edgecombe critically.

“Miss Edgecombe, I don’t know what makes you think you have the authority to come into my library and harass someone who is doing nothing wrong. For point of fact, Miss Potter has been in this library close to every day since the start of the term studying, because High Inquisitor Umbridge declined to let her take NEWT-level Defence. You will leave my library at once!”

“What?” Marietta said, eyes widening.

“I do not take kind to bullies and their ilk in my library! Particularly ones who will use terrible slurs like that… that word you nearly called Miss Potter. Be gone, and do not return. Ever!”

Marietta stormed out of the library, an ugly look on her face.

“And fifty points from Ravenclaw for the use of slurs!” Madame Pince shouted after the girl, anger heavy in her voice.

Madame Pince turned and looked at Harry softly.

“Are you alright, Harry?” She asked warmly.

“That is genuinely the first time I’ve been called a slur by someone for being what I am,” Harry said dryly. “I was kinda waiting for that to happen– they call me half-breed, mudblood and the like, so I… didn’t really think this would be any different. Madam Umbridge calls me a bloke all the time too.”

Madame Pince subsequently invited Harry into her office for tea and biscuits, before summoning Professor Snape.

When Professor Snape arrived, he caught sight of Harry and let out an annoyed sigh, before closing the door.

“What did that insufferable woman do now?” Snape said, a glint of murder crossing his face.

“Wasn’t her, it was one of her new jack-booted thugs,” Harry said. “Marietta Edgecombe stormed into the library while I was studying, accused me of truancy, gave me a two week detention, and added another week because she thought I was lying, as well as docking thirty points from Slytherin. Then, when I told her to sod off, she called me a poof, suppose I should be thankful it wasn’t anything worse than that.”

Snape blinked in surprise, and his face darkened.

“Your detention is cancelled, as well as thirty points being awarded to Slytherin, to rectify a false disciplinary action, and an additional twenty-five for maintaining your cool and calmness in a situation of harassment,” Snape said, smiling gently.

“Miss Edgecombe is permanently banned from the library,” Madame Pince said with a smile.

“Unfortunately, that is about all we can do, for now.” Snape said, rubbing his face in annoyance. “The Inquisitors are effectively outside the normal disciplinary system– only in certain ways can they be… neutralized. As it is, if Umbridge decides the three weeks of detention is the best way to get you with some flak, she may override my decision to override her little brat’s decision.”

“She’s effectively got total control over disciplinary action in this school?”

“As long as Professor Dumbledore can overrule her, no, but I believe it is only a matter of time before she passes another one of her Decrees stripping Professor Dumbledore of his right to pass disciplinary action, giving her total control over that.”

“The unsanctioned torture of students in this bitch’s hands,” Harry muttered, shaking her head. “What would my parents have done in this position?”

Snape looked pensive. “Lily had quite a temper, but it was… a temper she didn’t often use. It was an excess of passion– if she was upset by something, she made her upset quite clear, and would do whatever she thought necessary to ensure that her opposition and anger about it was known. Occasionally that did escalate into physical violence, such as the times she hit people for their use of… _that slur…_”

He grimaced. “As for your father, I couldn’t say. You are well aware of my… dislike for him.”

“I understand, sir,” Harry said, nodding.

…

She took in the sight of the people seated in front of her, looking concerned.

Blaise Zabini and Millicent Bulstrode– the fifth year prefects; Lysander Welles and Clarissa Osbourne, the sixth year prefects; Quincy Groves and Elisabeth Rennell, the seventh year prefects.

All six people who were, technically, in higher positions of authority than little ol’ Harry Potter were seated before her, looking to _her_ for guidance.

“I’m not sure there’s really anything _I_ specifically can do,” Harry murmured apologetically, grimacing at the six prefects. “That ugly bitch and by extent, the cabal of morons she works for the benefit of has Hogwarts by the short and curlies. The best I can do is continue to advise you to help your fellow students, and report any and all arbitrary actions you see being taken– and for the love of Morgana, don’t just _resign_ if she takes over disciplinary powers. The last thing you need is to be at her tender mercies.”

“That’s fair,” Quincy said dryly. “But what if one of our own _does_ get caught up in punishment?”

“Then we’ll deal with that. So far, she hasn’t been lucky enough to snatch one of us. She got Fred Weasley in Gryffindor, and he’s mostly taking it in stride– and it did serve as a catalyst for us to gain the backing of the majority of the staff who hasn’t bought into her propaganda.”

“That’s awfully callous,” Millicent said quietly.

“But Fred even likes the idea– use his suffering for martyrdom so we can destroy that woman,” Harry said with a shrug. “It’s his decision, not mine.”

…

Harry looked over the work in front of her. She’d found that she adored alchemy, though the conversations they’d had in class about the differences between the absolute chaos of magic and the _regimented…ness_ of Muggle technology. It fascinated her.

The footwork had been put in already, to synthesize the two, though as usual, the wixen were a few decades behind. Professor Westlake (or rather, Professor _Flamel_) had given them leave to start their first research project. Harry had decided to dig a little deeper into the principles explained in that class with Umbridge.

She had done two things– first, she had borrowed her mother’s WWN radio, as well as acquiring an order form via Dobby. Her mother’s radio was in disassembled pieces before her, and Harry had come to her first conclusion– WWN radios were using a charmed and shrunk form of vacuum tubes, not transistors. Most of them dated to the approximate time that WWN had first been established, and therefore all the radios were backdated to the late 19th, early 20th century.

Her mothers, for instance, had a magical validation date of the thirteenth of April, 1918.

A cursory jaunt through some history books in the library had exposed to Harry that the WWN had been established by directive of Minister Archer Evermonde. The man had been instrumental in preventing the Wizengamot from gallivanting into the Palatine War, a devastating Muggle conflict that ravaged Continental Europe from 1916 to 1922 (incidentally being less than eighteen months before the rise of Grindelwald and his supporters out of the war-torn Cheruscia). He and some others who had perhaps been a bit more attentive to the Muggles, had come up with the idea of their own public broadcasting service, kipping heavily off the EBC and SBS.

Of course, now, it was merely a front for poorly-written, racist dramas (“Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle” or “It Came From Below!”) or extremely outdated Celestina Warbeck songs. It served little in the realm of news, a service _bestowed_ upon the nation by the Daily Prophet, so long as you didn’t notice the Quibbler next to it at the newsstands, not that anybody ever did. Harry knew that Luna’s father tried, but the focus on magizoology and mythizoology was a cause of public scorn– as was the fact that he was the only staff member of the Quibbler, compared to the Daily Prophet’s monopoly on information. They owned not only their own newspaper, but Witch Weekly and Warlock’s World. The investors of the Daily Prophet could print whatever they wanted, and there was little anybody could do about it.

But more the point– the WWN was… a thing, and it had been the catalyst for this small Muggle technology to insert itself into the lives of wizards, whether they recognized it as Muggle or not.

Radio broadcasts were not susceptible to frequency intrusion nor were they susceptible to signal degradation due to the magical nature of how it was broadcast. Runic enchantments took care of that, etched into the wooden panelling of the radio’s interior.

It was a frightfully complex affair, and probably a major reason why more complex mundane technology had yet to enter the public eye. They had their own unique, more… _rigorous_ forms in the form of things like the databases of the Department of Records, or the Macedonian polybikos and their bronze avian delivery automatons. Those things were designed entirely from a basis of Magic, often using inspiration from that which was Muggle.

Glancing down at the engineering book in front of her, she grimaced. This research project had gotten more complicated. How was she going to bring _circuit boards and capacitors_ into the wixen world?

She quickly scribbled down a few ideas on some rudimentary tests, before biting her lip.

There was something to this, perhaps.

…

“Harry, you’re not wrong,” Hermione said quietly as she dropped the large book back on the coffee table. “It’s almost anticlimactic, how _unmagical_ the magical government is.”

Harry had found that everything Dumbledore had told her about the government was true– it was a decidedly bland and corrupt body. The Wizengamot was an old boy’s club whom picked new members by acclaim, or were pushed into accepting them by government fiat. No member of the Wizengamot really had a hereditary seat, though it could be strongly urged to appoint a new MW from the same family as the deceased one. The Potters had their seat for quite some time, but after Harry’s grandfather had died, the Wizengamot had voted to appoint someone else to the vacancy, thus ending the political influence of Harry’s family in short order.

Harry was certain the reason for it had to do with her mother.

The Wizengamot _wasn’t_ democratic, meaning that thousands of wizards who lacked thousands of galleons got no vote. The closest thing one could hope to get was being appointed to one of the ‘reserved’ Ministry seats, which were typically filled by the Minister for Magic and their closest allies. There was no oaths before magic, nothing of the sort. The Wizengamot… was as Muggle as the English Parliament was.

“What would it take for magic to not recognize the legitimacy of a government?” Harry asked pensively, looking thoughtful.

“Magic doesn’t work like that,” Hermione said immediately.

“That’s been the general consensus– I was looking into magical governments overseas, and none of them are really _based_ in the concept of magical legitimacy, except for Yematai.”

“What makes Yematai unique?”

“The magical government of Yematai is effectively the Muggle one,” Harry said. “The Yamato claim that their Empress is a descendant of the goddess Amaterasu– she’s their sun deity. Apparently, said goddess was merely a very powerful magical priestess, and her actions towards Muggles evolved into her being their deity of the sun.”

“But the government itself isn’t based off magic?” Hermione asked.

“No, but there is a certain legitimacy ingrained in both of their governments that Amaterasu’s blessing gives them a mandate, much like the Mandate of Heaven and the fact that all English and Scottish monarchs are technically anointed, not appointed. The Wizengamot has no such higher power– they don’t need the mandate of Magic to govern, they have the money, the influence, and the manpower.”

“They don’t have the money though, do they? Gringotts has a monopoly on finance,” Hermione said. “Even though the goblins have constantly lost the rebellions for the right to wield wands, they’ve still yet to have their right to control finance stripped away. Without the galleon, the government would collapse.”

“Right, but they have influence– Hogwarts is the sole entity on these fair isles that hasn’t given itself wholly to the central government, by sheer fact that it predates the Ministry, but I found out that _so did the Department of Mysteries._ The Ministry… is in this strange orthodoxical state of superposition. It is both as strong as it has ever been, and yet weak. I have no doubts that if Tom Riddle invaded the Ministry right now, the government would collapse in his wake like a house of cards. This High Inquisitor nonsense is just the last gasp of a state that cannot survive.”

Hermione thought about it, looking like she’d just swallowed a lemon. “So you’re supposed to save a government that can’t sustain itself?”

“No, even if that was what the prophecy said, I am under no obligations to _any_ government. My sole concern is with Tom Riddle. The man has decided that people are his targets, and so I shall do my best to beat him so people don’t die in vain. The Ministry doesn’t factor into the equation one iota,” Harry said with a snort.

Harry let out a resigned sigh. “The problem is I have no idea what that actually means for the future.”

“Nothing good, I wager,” Hermione said stiffly.

…

“Has our illustrious High Inquisitor indicated if she is staying at the castle over the holiday?” Minerva asked dryly at the secret staff meeting that they had begun to conduct in the middle of the night to avoid oversight. Albus had initially declined to attend, but the growing concerns of a full-on blood war within Hogwarts had become somewhat of a concern for the elderly Headmaster, who had cast aside his previous visible-neutrality in favor of attending the meetings where the teachers planned their support for the rebellion.

“Not at the moment, but she is trying to impress upon the Headmaster the idea of having another Yule Ball, which would trap a lot of students here, most likely including Harry, who she’d be gunning for with both barrels,” Snape said wryly. “I can tell she is still quite frustrated to not be able to ensnare her into her detentions.”

“If the bint stays behind, we’ve already got all we need. I have runic plates set up in most of the corridors, for a bit of a fun light show if she shows her face,” Bathsheda said with a smug look on her face. “Septima and I have worked on improving their scope and efficiency so no students or other professors get keyed into it.”

Filius sighed. “News in the Ravenclaw house is still quite grim. Miss Edgecombe’s attempted harassment of Miss Potter in the library has spread.”

“What did that little brat tell them?” Snape asked, mouth quirking in annoyance. “She should’ve gotten a much worse punishment than she did, given the fact she used such inappropriate language.”

“I haven’t gotten the whole story, but it isn’t pleasant. A large number of them were trying to get up the courage to try to storm the Slytherin common room. Quite a few of the half-bloods and Muggleborns have even gotten in on it. I had to issue a detention to Mister Davies for calling her… a, well, forgive my language, ‘slant-eyed Nip bitch’, to be a bit pointed about it.”

Minerva made a strangled hissing sound and her face turned a shade of red. “He did _what_?!”

“I don’t want to repeat it,” Filius said, frowning. “It seems quite a few of the students with ties to the Muggle world have started sharing racial epithets used by Muggles, and its gained traction.”

“I have found much the same in Hufflepuff. I caught Mr. Finch-Fletchley teaching several students a litany of slurs to be used against some of our ethnic students, aimed specifically at Miss Potter and the Patil twins.”

“Why the Patil twins?” Minerva asked, eyebrow raised.

“Padma Patil is one of the only Ravenclaws to express public support for Harry Potter in spite of all that’s been transpiring,” Filius said wryly. “And I suppose because her twin sister is a Gryffindor.”

There was a palpable silence before Snape sighed.

“What exactly would be the ramifications, Minerva, if you withdrew Miss Potter from Hogwarts altogether? She’s already gotten at least one of her OWLs, so she is technically entitled to complete the rest of her education independently.”

“Severus, I may be her mother, but I don’t want for you to mistake that for me having control over her like that. She wouldn’t entertain such a notion. For one, the girl she loves more than life itself is still here, as are all of her friends and family.”

“Miss Granger’s parents are Muggles, surely they can be easily convinced to have their daughter home-schooled by approved tutors?”

“I must admit I’m not exactly fond of having Draco here with what’s been going on,” Narcissa spoke up, the first time the new adjutant Underclass Charms professor had intervened in the conversation.

“Harry will not retreat and leave Hogwarts to Madam Umbridge’s tender mercies,” Albus interjected. “To suggest she do so is rather insulting.”

“Do we just let this situation continue to burn, and subsequently raze Hogwarts to the ground? What are we waiting for?” Severus hissed.

“Perhaps that’s exactly what we’re waiting for,” Albus said, eyebrows furrowing. “The situation will not end without strife, which I know for certain. Once open fighting erupts in Hogwarts, that is the moment the die will be cast, and we cannot go back to how things were before. It may be callous and… wrong of me to say so, but I say, let the die be cast.”

“Albus, these are only children,” Minerva protested.

“Most of them involved in this little show of pageantry and arrogance are only just shy of their majority, Minerva,” Albus said. “In fact, Mister Davies _is_ an adult, an adult who is choosing to use ethnic slurs and sexual slurs against your daughter. Something I have come to learn about Harry in our long conversations and lessons, is that she is a creature of _passion_, of _justice_. You have taught her well not to suffer fools lightly, and it is only through the immense restraint of knowing the consequences of her actions that has kept her from exacting justice on those that have wronged her and her friends.”

Albus shook his head. “The first time someone lays a hand or harms a hair on Miss Granger? Mister Black? You, Minerva? She will go mad with grief, guilt, and anger. I am afraid to see what the results of that will be.”

Minerva looked horrified, and Albus gave her a look over his glasses.

“Harry Potter is not a violent girl. But like her mother, like me, like so many others, there is a line you cannot cross. Gellert crossed my line, and I spent the better part of fifty years trying to pretend I wasn’t burning up inside. When the time came to face him down, I did not hesitate to end his miserable existence. He blinded me, cost me my family, and I took grim satisfaction in boiling his blood from the inside out.”

“The Headmaster is right,” Snape said quietly. “Whenever I close my eyes, I can still see Lily… dead. I,” He shook his head, before staring at Minerva.

“Your daughter will do anything for those she loves, just like Lily did, even if it means burning the world to the ground. Don’t let her suffer like that, Minerva. She deserves so much better than that.”


	18. The Gambit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Yule Holiday approaches, and the harrowing story of Hogwarts continues.

**December 1995**

“Madam Umbridge, it would represent an undue burden on the students of Hogwarts to hold a Yule Ball with such short notice. Last year’s Ball was planned well in advance, with students being informed to bring dress robes as early as September,” Albus said plainly. “I’m afraid even if it comes highly recommended by Minister Fudge, I cannot endorse such a plan.”

“Headmaster, are you seriously refusing to accept the Minister’s request?”

“I’m afraid I am, Dolores,” Albus said plainly. “As much as you may wish it, madam, this school is still my domain, and I have the final say over these things. But, ah, while you’re here, perhaps we can discuss the culture of racism you’re breeding in my school.”

“Excuse me?” Her voice was surprised at the straight-forward questioning.

“Since your arrival, and your meddling in things that you have no right to meddle in, frankly, we have seen a perceptible increase in the use of malicious slurs against our students. On multiple occasions, your Inquisitors have been caught using extremely inappropriate language to debase and insult other students on the base of their sexuality, gender, blood status and ethnicity. I’m not sure what kind of culture you’re encouraging in your Inquisitors, madam, but slurs are not tolerated at Hogwarts, and I will be paying closer attention to these matters to ensure that the appropriate parties are punished for their use of such disgusting language.”

“How dare you-”

“How dare _I_, madam? Let us not pretend here. The only reason you are here is because I loathe the idea of having to engage in a multiple round slapfight with the Ministry for Magic in a time where we need to present a united front to defeat Lord Voldemort. If I didn’t have so many other more important things to worry about _than you_ and the government, you would have already been sent away from this castle in disgrace. Do not misinterpret my tolerance for your shenanigans as anything but keeping the peace for the sake of Britain.”

“You still persist that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned? The Ministry has _denied_ such allegations, Headmaster. It is a fabrication dreamed up by a troubled half-breed who wants nothing more than to gain attention.”

“You believe that,” Albus said with a roll of his eyes. “Every student and teacher at Hogwarts saw the truth. The only reason you have so many willing collaborators here is because of optics and politics, nothing more. I would keep that in mind, Dolores.”

“Oh, I shall, Headmaster. Believe me, I will. The Minister will hear of your disrespect.”

“Good. Cornelius could use a bit of a cold shower. His ego is the size of a hippogriff’s backside.”

“How dare you-”

“Dolores, please, for the love of Merlin. Shut up, would you? Unless you have any further business here, you are dismissed.”

“You cannot simply-”

“Dismissed, Dolores. Unless you’d like to see _exactly_ what the half-breed Vanquisher of Grindelwald looks like.”

Dolores left, stewing in anger.

Albus sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He glanced at the corner of the room, where Minerva McGonagall and Severus Snape appeared from behind Harry’s invisibility cloak.

“That woman– calling my daughter disturbed,” Minerva fumed.

“I am impressed at how straightforward you were, Headmaster,” Severus said quietly.

“I am growing rather tired of being the grandfatherly figure, it just makes people assume they can walk all over me like I’m a doddering old man,” Albus said, shaking his head. “Do they _really_ think I won’t make a stand if pushed far enough?”

“No, of course not– they remember your mercy campaign in the 80s and think you’ll just take unending amounts of abuse to keep the peace.”

“I do have my bloody limitations,” Albus grumbled. “I’ve always believed in mercy to a degree because of the fact most of the people I’m facing now were students, and I feel somewhat responsible for them being where they are but…”

“You can’t appease or win over everyone with your charm,” Severus noted, snorting. “That woman thinks she’s invulnerable, doesn’t she?”

“Something like that. Perhaps it’s time for a change in optics,” Albus muttered. “The whole colourful robes and mysterious personality thing was fine. It helped people underestimate me, but now…”

He shook his head, and stood up. “Pass this directive on to the others– no tolerance for Umbridge’s toadies. They may be students, but they’ve cast their lot in with her, and should know consequences for it. Don’t hesitate to give them detentions, and if she tries to overrule them, tell her to come see me immediately.”

Minerva and Severus nodded in understanding. Minerva left to take care of informing the other professors, while Severus pocketed Harry’s invisibility cloak.

“I trust you’ll give that back to her at once, Severus?”

“Of course, Headmaster. Perhaps she should start carrying it with her everywhere, just in case she needs to bid a hasty retreat,” Severus suggested.

“Harry isn’t going to retreat, Severus,” Albus chided.

“She may not have a choice, Headmaster,” Severus retorted. “We can’t just presume we’ll win out over Umbridge. We’re a school of some of the most talented masters in Britain, yes, but the Ministry for Magic outnumbers us by a rather sizable margin.”

Albus looked thoughtful. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to have a backup plan.”

“If you are intent on seeing this through to the point of no return, then we need Harry to start instructing her Gryffindor and Slytherin followers to prepare for more than just a small campaign of disobedience. If you want to become the third faction in this pestilential war, then… we need to start preparing for it.”

“This isn’t what I wanted at all, but, I can’t see it panning out any other way,” Albus said with a hum.

“I already have some ideas, if you’re willing to hear them? I’ve been planning for contingencies like a mass siege at Hogwarts for years,” Severus admitted.

“Have you?”

“If… the Dark Lord truly has returned,” Severus began. “Then there is a rather obvious target in mind– Hogwarts. I have been preparing contingencies since the first time Miss Potter faced down his spectre. Of course, I will admit, the context is different… but…”

He took a deep breath. “Honestly, there are a lot of variables in it. But since you first mentioned the need to let things escalate, I’ve readjusted my plans. First thing, we keep up the legalistic fiction that Hogwarts is still operating as usual, but we create a stricter set of rules. Any fights or use of magic in the corridors would warrant detention, but instead of a standard detention, they’d be put into one of the dungeons overseen by a professor with a record of compassion, preferably Pomona or Poppy. We’ll have the elves renovate the dungeons to simply be detention rooms.”

“Will that serve as a deterrent?”

“It will serve as _some_ kind of deterrent, sure. We’ll use the Order of the Phoenix plus the Army of the Slumbering Dragon to maintain order. If Umbridge can appoint her own paramilitary prefects, so can we. Call it Hogwarts Night Watch or something, put it under the command of someone you trust within the Order, have Harry be a deputy commander therein. They can use their racist rhetoric all they want, but they only do it now because they have power over Harry and her friends. Make it clear this is a temporary measure, and maintain it as long as need be until the Ministry agrees to terms, or… well, not.”

“Fudge won’t,” Albus said thoughtfully.

“Do you think Fudge will survive the end of the year if we do this?” Severus said incredulously. “If it comes out that Dumbledore no longer backs the Ministry, and we make clear we intend to leave them to die, then one of two things will happen– either Voldemort’s chosen Minister will be installed into power in a silent coup, or someone in the Ministry will take a desperate step to preserve what’s left, and do the same but in the opposite direction.”

“You think something like that is already happening?” Albus said, thinking. “It would explain why Kingsley, Miss Tonks and Arthur have gone silent.”

“Entirely possible,” Severus said. “Frankly, there aren’t many good outcomes to this, but closing ranks around Miss Potter and fortifying Hogwarts is the least bad one. It will be an open confrontation that will weaken the Ministry, but frankly…”

“The Ministry has been on the ropes for years. Bagnold and Fudge have seen to it,” Albus said in annoyance. “And I let them, why did I let them? No, I know why– I was terrified of turning into Gellert. Bloody hell.”

…

“What? What is going on here? You will let me go _at once!_” Edwin Bathurst hissed, wrestling against the binds keeping him pinned to the chair he was in.

“Now, Edwin, why on Earth would we do such a thing?” Gareth said, stepping out of the shadow and looking at one of his Unspeakables. “I know of the little project you’ve been working on with your cohorts. Fabricating evidence that Muggleborns steal magic? Did you really think we wouldn’t notice?”

“When the Aurors find out what you’re doing, you’ll be thrown in Azkaban,” Edwin said, before the unmistakable feeling of a Cruciatus curse hit him full-blast, ripping through his skin, like it was being flayed off where he sat.

“You should temper your tongue, boy,” Gareth said, eyes narrowed. “You know just as well as I do that the Aurors have very little idea of what goes on in this department, and you’ll find you’re all out of allies, and out of time.”

Somebody he couldn’t see grasped his jaw and wrenched it open, before dropping a concise dosage of Veritaserum.

“Now, Bathurst, you’ll tell us everything you know of your Lord’s plans, and those in the Ministry aligned to your cause. How many Ministry departments are infiltrated by Death Eaters?”

“All of them, except for the Ministry of Records.”

“Why not the Ministry of Records?” Gareth asked, eyebrow raised.

“That mudblood lover, Spellman– she… keeps tabs on all her girls. The last time we sent a spy in there under the premise of a new recruit, she was weeded out and disappeared soon after,” Bathurst admitted.

“I want their names,” Gareth said. “We’ve weeded out your kind in the DOM, but there are other departments in need of pruning.”

A sheet of parchment and a quill appeared in front of Bathurst, who grit his teeth, trying to resist the truth serum, but he found himself scribbling away, listing all of his comrades.

When he was done, Gareth glanced at the list and looked to someone else in the room. “What do you think?”

“Most of these people are already on our list,” Another male voice contributed with a snort. “Not exactly news, is it?”

“You’ll have to do better than that, Bathurst. Perhaps a little… encouragement is in order?”

“No, please,” Bathurst pleaded in desperation. “I’ll tell you anything you want.”

Gareth and the men with him in the small room carefully documented everything coming out of Bathurst’s lips. It wasn’t the entire battle plan, but it betrayed several key facts. The number of people either under the thrall of Death Eaters or bearing Voldemort’s mark in the ranks of the Ministry, people directly funding the Dark Lord’s war fund, and a couple of planned operations– one against Amelia Bones during the Yule holidays, and one against a large Muggle population centre on the day following the Muggle Christmas holiday– apparently the largest shopping day of the year.

It was enough to give them a step-up in operations against Voldemort.

Bathurst, however, had long outlived his usefulness– a spy within the Department of Mysteries could not be tolerated, the treason of Augustus Rookwood still stung Gareth’s pride, and he could tolerate no such nonsense now, when the stakes were that much higher.

“Take him to the Veil,” Gareth hissed, and Bathurst began to scream for mercy as he was dragged off to his ultimate fate.

“Soon, we’ll do away with that sort,” Gareth murmured, shaking his head before going to deliver the news to Amelia.

…

Harry blinked in surprise. Standing before the assembled mass of students at the front of the hall, striding his way up the aisle, was Headmaster Albus Dumbledore– now sporting a trimmed and well-kept beard, and no longer wearing his flashy, overly fruity robes. Instead, he was wearing a Muggle suit, just like he had during his time as Transfiguration professor fifty years ago. She glanced up at Umbridge, whose face had flashed pink in annoyance. Professor ‘Westlake’ was looking at Albus with a calculating, interested look, and everyone else on the staff table just seemed rather surprised.

Harry quickly realized _exactly_ what Dumbledore was doing. He was doing away with illusions, and asserting the person he had once been. She couldn’t help but feel it was rather refreshing.

“Good morning students,” Dumbledore said, his voice made louder by the presence of a _Sonorus_ charm. “I should like to inform you of some policy changes. Effective immediately, the long-standing tolerance of the use of inappropriate disparaging remarks of one’s ethnic group or heritage against the student body will be no more. Professors and prefects shall be assigning strict detentions and point removal for the use of them. This applies to all slurs, both of magical or Muggle origin. If you have any questions about this new policy, please consult with your Head of House. Thank you,”

Murmuring erupted through the student body, rumblings of displeasure at the sudden strictness being demonstrated by the Headmaster, and rumblings of approval of such a strong step being taken. The Inquisitors looked positively mutinous, as it kneecapped a large part of their own rhetoric.

The end of the term was marked by a stifling of hostilities. The Inquisitors were no longer able to get away with anything they so choose as Headmaster Dumbledore took a firmer position and began to directly intervene in disciplinary proceedings against students– with the power of the High Inquisitor curtailed for now, the traps had been temporarily disabled, as part of Snape and Dumbledore’s guided campaign to win back some of the power away from Umbridge. As students began to leave for the Hogwarts Express, Harry, Hermione and Draco were once again escorted out of the school via the Floo, bypassing the train entirely– for their own safety, and for the safety of others, more often than not.

Once back at the Cottage, there was a brief moment of saying hello to Rolanda and Sirius, before Harry escorted Hermione back to her house. With a simple _pop_ and an instant slip through the world to Hampstead, the borough of London that Hermione called home during the summer. Escorting her to the door, they were greeted at the door by Hermione’s mother, Monica.

“Mum!” Hermione greeted, wrapping herself up in Monica’s hug. Monica glanced at Harry and flashed her a smile. “Hello again, Harry. You look nice, why don’t you come in?”

“I’d love to, Mrs. Granger, thank you,” Harry said, smiling.

“Wendell! Your daughter is home!” Monica called up the stairs to her husband, who thundered down as quickly as his feet could carry him, wrapping his daughter up in his arms.

“It’s so good to see you, princess!” Wendell said with a grin. He noticed the other person in the room and looked at Harry and blinked in surprise. “Sorry about that, I’m Hermione’s father, Wendell, who might you be?”

“We’ve met before, sir, I’m Harry Potter,” Harry said, smiling slightly. “I’ve uh, blossomed a bit since the last time you and I saw each other.”

“So I can tell… you do look quite different.”

“I’m a Metamorphmagus, sir, I can sort of change my forms however I’d like to,” Harry said with a grin. “After I figured out I was really a girl on the inside, making the outside match was rather simple.”

“Sounds like a bloody useful trait to have sometimes, particularly if you’re not liking your hair on a given day,” He said with a chuckle, patting his thinning hairline with a hand. “How is that devilish school of yours? Safe still?”

“Oh, it’s _safe_, but not very pleasant. There’s this woman, Umbridge is her name? She’s running amok being a massive toad’s arse, excuse my language,” Harry admitted.

“She’s not fond of Muggles or Muggleborns,” Hermione said, shaking her head. “She’s been a nightmare.”

“We’re working on getting her shipped off back to the festering bog she crawled out of, but it’s a slow process. She wanted to hold some kind of Yule Ball this year and keep all of us kids in the castle, fortunately Headmaster Dumbledore told her where she could stick it.”

“Jamie!” Hermione admonished.

“Umbridge is not a topic of polite conversation, Mia, all bets are off when that bint comes up, you can bet all the quid in the world that I’ll have some very choice words in my mouth to describe that… _witch_,” Harry said, fury briefly flickering across her face. “In any case, I wanted to make sure my dear Mia got home safe and sound.”

“That’s very noble of you, Harry,” Monica said with a smile. “Would you like to stay for dinner? I’m trying a new recipe.”

“Ah, unfortunately I can’t. My Mum’s got the family altogether for a meal to celebrate the start of the Yule holiday, too many people there to blow off to hang out with the girlfriend and her family. Can I get a raincheck on that, though?”

“Of course. How about just before New Year’s? We usually do something special then.”

“I think I can wing that,” Harry said with a grin. “Only if you lot come up to our place for a meal or something sometime during the holiday. Plenty of space for activities.”

“Hermione said something about you living on a farm?” Wendell clarified.

“Yep, sure do. Plenty of land in the Scottish highlands, my godfather does a lot of the animal husbandry and tends to our garden, along with my other Mum, when she’s not referring Quidditch matches at Hogwarts. We’ve got all sorts of creatures, magical and mundane, as well as a whole bunch of fruit and vegetables growing. Sirius tells me we’re nearly self-sufficient, given that the few elves we’ve got employed are damn crafty at getting the stuff sold to Muggles and wix alike.”

“Goodness,” Monica said in surprise. “Though it must be rather bitter up there this time of year?”

“Yeah, it can be– proximity warming charms do proper good work of getting rid of the nip in the air when you’re out on the patio, but it’s always a bit more cozy around the fire with a hot mug of tea or chocolate, or something like that. It’s quite beautiful though despite all that, even in the bleak midwinter.”

Harry turned and kissed Hermione gently on the lips. “I ought to get back, Mum’s probably starting to worry– technically I’m not supposed to have my apparition license yet, she gets all weird every time I apparate further than the next hillside. I’ll call you on the telephone, yea?”

“Of course, just not after 8,” Hermione said with a smile. “The fees are murder.”

“Gotcha. Love you, Mia,” Harry said, grinning, before disappearing with a sharp pop.

“Young love,” Monica said with a happy sigh.

“She’s a nice girl,” Wendell said with a nod. “How long have you two been seeing each other, princess?”

“Well, do you remember when Professor McGonagall invited me to go to Edo with Harry and her family back before my third year? We kissed on her birthday, and… I don’t know, it’s just kind of blossomed from there. She’s an amazing person, and I love her.”

Monica smiled. “That’s very sweet. She seems very responsible and quite protective.”

“She’s literally the top student in our class. She and I have been going back and forth since first year on who is the better student. She’d be a prefect if she didn’t have so many other things on her plate, like teaching Defence because the toad that teaches it now can’t do it right. As for the protective bit, well, I guess she’s still blaming herself for what happened second year. She carries too much on her shoulders sometimes, particularly guilt.”

“Does she ever, you know, relax?” Wendell said with a raised eyebrow.

“Rarely, if ever,” Hermione said with a light chuckle.

…

The assembled group at the McGonagall cottage on that first evening of the Yule holiday resembled more a war council than anything else. Seated around the large dining table were Harry, Minerva, Rolanda, Sirius, Andromeda, Narcissa, Draco and Dora. As food was served out, Minerva stood up, raised a glass to the assembled group and looked stoically at each one.

“A toast to the holiday. May we find peace in the coming year,” Minerva murmured.

There was a general hum of agreement to her statement, though not a single person there believed they were on the brink of turning the corner for the good any time soon.

“Things are getting progressively worse at the Ministry,” Tonks said suddenly in the quiet lull of food being consumed. “I’m not held to secrecy, but… there’s some things that I think you lot should know, particularly you, Harry. You’re sort of the unknowing lynchpin for a lot of what we’re doing.”

“I am?” Harry asked, surprised.

“I’ve been helping a small group of people, namely… Madame Bones, Arthur Weasley, Gareth Mullins, Janice Spellman and Percy Weasley, prepare for a forced change of power.”

“You’re planning on deposing Minister Fudge?” Narcissa said in surprise. “Has it gotten that bad?”

“The Unspeakables have been rounding up Death Eaters quietly, we’ve found infiltrations going deep into nearly every department, save for a scant few. It’s shaken us up and made us realize just how quickly we need to move before the Dark Tosser gets his mitts on everything. It’ll be a few months more before we can really move, but that’s a big reason why you need to keep Umbridge bottled up. If she returns to the Minister’s side… well, she’s far more political savvy than he is, and she knows how to bend some fingers to get what she wants. The more time she’s away from the Ministry, the better.”

“The woman’s torturing children,” Harry said, narrowing her eyes. “We can’t just let her reign supreme for months and do nothing.”

“It’s a bad situation, no matter how you cut it,” Tonks murmured, picking at her meal.

“As long as the Ministry presents a clear and intent-driven threat over the school, we’re being as discrete as we can,” Minerva said smoothly. “The woman is a menace, and we’ve entertained the idea of taking her out but honestly, how could we? We’d be killing someone for their opinion, as bigoted as it is…”

“When you marry words with actions, it stops being innocent ignorance and starts being the same nonsense that Riddle used against people,” Harry said. “Salazar’s opinion was always that there are certain actions that can be morally excused on the grounds of being the littlest of all evils.”

“And killing someone would be the lesser of two evils?”

“The other evil, from what I can tell, is letting the Inquisitors run riot through the school breeding distrust and strife,” Draco interjected. “Someone has to do something.”

“We’re not trying to get a legion of Aurors laying siege to the castle, Draco,” Minerva said, her eyebrows furrowing. “Surely you can understand that?”

“I can, but it doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Draco murmured.

…

Hermione, for her part, was in an inquisitive mood. The continued strife at Hogwarts had her fearing for her Harry’s safety. It hadn’t gone unnoticed by Hermione that this school year had been weighing heavily on everyone, and that Harry barely slept, functioning entirely off of whatever few hours she could grab between planning meetings of the Army of the Slumbering Dragon and studying for her other OWLs. If she didn’t do _something_, anything at all, she wouldn’t forgive herself.

As much as she hated that pink toad-faced woman, she couldn’t bring herself up to the idea of killing for the sake of bringing an end to the nonsense. Too easy to trace, not clever enough for a Slytherin. _Killing_ her would merely replace her with some other flunky of the Ministry, and bring enough investigations and Aurors on the school to throw everything into mass chaos. No, she needed to use some of her cleverness and cleverness to get the woman out of the picture without anybody being any the wiser.

That precluded transfiguration or charms to deal with her. They would leave marks, or require more magic than would be reasonable to maintain long-term. Human transfiguration was a NEWT subject, and from her own cursory understanding of the subject, the only way to minimize the problems would be to keep the mass of the object being transfigured as close as possible to what it was at the time of transfiguring– shrinking her down to something containable would be… difficult, if she was honest. Putting charms down would be possible, but that wouldn’t give the kind of long-term security they needed to neutralize her as a threat.

Her eyes fell on her Potions textbook, sitting on her desk, aside her essay for Snape’s class. An idea began to form in her head. Asphodel and an infusion of wormwood to start, with… a few additional ingredients to increase potency and add some side-effects to ham up the realism. A mischievous grin spread across Hermione’s face. She had work to do, and the first thing was reach out to Professors Westlake and Snape with some… innocuous questions.

With any luck, she could avoid Harry having to make a difficult decision, and put everyone a bit more at ease– but there was maybe a bit more to it. Hermione fumed at the woman’s dismissive demeanour towards her heritage. She wasn’t ashamed to be the daughter of Muggles, she was _proud_, and she’d show just what kind of witch she was. Umbridge would pay in spades for what she’d done to stir the hornet’s nest.

> Professor Westlake,
> 
> I believe I may have come up with a good solution to the problem that we have been trying to solve since September. You mentioned in our first class that alchemy can intensify the effect of potions. Would you be willing to answer some questions for me privately, when it is convenient for you?
> 
> I am remembering a particular combination of ingredients that Professor Snape mentioned in his start-of-term potions class, one that might just give us the breathing space we need while not drawing undue, specific attentions.
> 
> Warmest regards,  
H.J.G.

She had to be vague, just in case someone picked up the letter en route and… perused it. It was terrible, not knowing who you could trust these days.

> Professor Snape,
> 
> On our first day of our first year in your Potions class, you asked Harry Potter a specific question. I would like some clarification on that particular question when it is convenient for you. It may solve a problem we have shared since the first of September. Please give your reply to Dobby, as I do not trust the owl post.
> 
> Warmest regards,  
H.J.G.

The letters had gone off with Dobby, and she turned her attention to her holiday homework. While she methodically worked away on her assignments, she heard a light tapping on her door.

“Princess? You’ve got visitors.”

“I do?” Hermione asked, eyebrow raised. She made her way downstairs to see Professor Westlake and Professor Snape seated in her parents’ parlour, drinking tea.

“Professors! You came all this way because of my letters?” Hermione asked, surprised. It had only been a half-hour since she had dispatched Dobby, after all.

“You mentioned a question I asked Harry Potter on the first day of your first year Potions class, about… asphodel and an infusion of wormwood,” Snape said, looking pensive. “I will admit, Miss Granger, the idea has been floated around, but there is… complications involved with such a thing.”

“I thought so too, it’s one of the potions many healers are taught to look for, but I remember from this year that Professor Westlake mentioned alchemic properties in potions amplifying their effects. What if we made a version of it that had slightly different simulated effects, and was far more powerful so that standard antidotes would not apply?”

“That’s very theoretical, but not impossible. Did you have any ideas?”

“Moonstone has properties that could intensify the effects, but I was wondering if there were any potion ingredients that could simulate a coronary, or an aneurysm.”

“A feint,” Perinelle said in surprise. “Oh, that’s brilliant, Miss Granger! If you simulate the effects of something as benign as a severe stroke or heart attack, it throws people off the idea that it’s merely Draught of Living Death. Magical healing can’t pick up nuances in the heart like muggle medicine can.”

“Slow the heart rate, slow brain activity, render a person in a living coma, but alive… under the long-term,” Snape said thoughtfully. “You’d need a very pure stock of moonstone, perhaps a bit of concentrate silver, sloth bone…”

“I could brew it here, so that neither one of you falls under suspicion, and smuggle it in with me after the holiday,” Hermione said.

“That’s… a very plausible scenario. We might have to discuss this with Minerva and Albus first, but… yes, go right ahead, Miss Granger. I’ll send my house elf with instructions for you on the latter stages of brewing the enhanced form of the potion. I’m sure you don’t require my assistance with the first part,” Snape said smoothly.

“No sir, I can take care of it.”

“Good,” He said with a nod. “If this works, Miss Granger, you’ll be a hero.”

“I’m not doing it for that, I’m doing it for Harry. She deserves a moment’s peace, you know?”

“I do indeed,” Snape said quietly, before raising his cup of tea towards her. “To happier times.”

“Indeed,” Hermione murmured, before taking a long drink of her tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is now over 100,000 words! I'm so happy to hit that milestone, I've never had a fic last that long or be that long. :3


	19. Maybe I'm Amazed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So endeth the year 1995-- you know, they often say "All you need is love". Perhaps they're right about that?

**Late December 1995**

Arthur Weasley wasn’t having a very good Yule– a very good year, really. Since the Ministry had stepped up their disinformation campaign against Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter– _Merlin’s beard, why Harry Potter? A fifteen year old child was not someone who should be dragged into political bullshit like this!_ Arthur had come to be involved in a grand conspiracy, one that involved his bureaucrat son Percival, the DMLE, and so many other people that he was beginning to have a hard time understanding just how fragile his society was.

And now, he was staring at the pale, scarred hand of his son Fred. He did some quick math. His sons were adults now, seventeen years old. He knew that their Weasley Wizarding Wheezes’ products were hits, wonderful inventions paid for by Harry Potter’s money. He might not shout and scream like his wife, but he _knew_ his sons, and knew the kind of things they could do with motivation.

“How did this happen?” He asked in a low voice.

“Professor Umbridge,” Fred said with a furrowed brow. “Roger Davies, the Head Boy, Ravenclaw git, you know, he called Harry a- well, I don’t want to repeat it. After Harry came out, we started buying Muggle literature about people changing their sex. I don’t understand why it’s suddenly an issue for Harry to do it when wix have been doing it for over a century.”

Arthur frowned deeply. “And what did you do?”

“I kicked his arse like a Muggle!” Fred said, grinning. “Wouldn’t change a thing, really. But it got worse– a lot of racist diatribes aimed at people like Harry, and the Patils. Insulting them because they’re you know, not technically British.”

“Harry Potter, not British? Please, that’s the silliest nonsense I’ve heard. Harry’s grandmother is Dorea Black, my great aunt.”

“No, Dad, it’s because she, you know, looks Asian. With Cho Chang gone, they’ve decided to loosen their tongues,” George said, shaking his head. “Apparently some of the Muggleborn kids have been teaching the purebloods and half-bloods about Muggle racial slurs.”

“Yeah, they’re really helping their fuckin’ cause by being racists,” Fred hissed under his breath. He blanched when his father gave him a look.

Taking in a deep breath, Arthur looked at Fred and George carefully.

“Boys, I’d like for you to meet Amelia Bones and Augusta Longbottom,” He murmured. “I think there is something that the Triple-W can do for the good of Britain.”

“Dad?” They both asked, surprised.

“I can’t say any more right now,” He said, shaking his head. “But don’t tell your mother at all. I will speak to her about this.”

…

In the bleak midwinter, Harry Potter stared out her window at the falling snow and idly contemplated her life to this point. Next year would mark ten years since she was rescued from the grasp of abusive Muggle relatives she barely remembered. Ten years in the care of two mothers who loved her so very dearly. It would also mark five years since she began her journey at Hogwarts, meeting some of the people she considered family, including the love of her life. She would be turning sixteen, and with it, on the cusp of _adulthood_. It terrified the young woman so thoroughly– what was she going to do with her life once this was all over? She’d always made plans to follow in her mother’s footsteps, but was that the life for her? A century and some change of working in academia? What if there was more to the world she hadn’t gotten yet to see?

Oh, Merlin’s saggy arse, and that was just her _theoretical, philosophical_ problems.

First and foremost, she wagered she’d slept a total of about four hours a night or less for the last handful of months? Haunted constantly by the resurrection of Voldemort and what would need to be done to stop the reign of terror of both the snake-faced walking bollock and the toad in a pink cardigan. Her eyes constantly itched and the fire in her chest and stomach felt _painful_ at times.

Secondly– she was terrified of someone she loved being hurt as a result of the prophecy, of the bullshite so deeply entwined in her life. How could she ever forgive herself if Hermione was hurt, or worse, killed, by a Death Eater scumbag? What if her _mother_ was hurt? The very thought of those first terrifying worst fears from Remus’ class came back to her and she began to tremble a bit. She shouldn’t have so many people by her side. She couldn’t protect them all, and if she couldn’t protect them all, she wouldn’t be able to carry on past that point. This contributed to her previous issue, where she kept seeing the dead faces of her family behind her eyelids.

Thirdly, she had a sinking feeling in her chest that she may not live to see her seventeenth birthday. She was making a whole big deal of learning alchemy and learning engineering for the sake of a life she may not get to live. Tom Riddle was a masterful wizard with power _and_ talent behind his spells. She had power, but talent? She was good at duelling, sure, but just like the last time she duelled with Voldemort, it had taken nearly every inch of her willpower and her craftiness to beat him back, and even then, she barely remembered half the fucking shite because she’d been _consumed_ by the tremoring fire in her tummy.

“Blistering bleeding absolute fuck!” She exclaimed suddenly, kicking her bedframe and swearing again when the tingle of pain shot its way up her foot. “If I keep goin’ around in circles like this I’m going to go mental!”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Panicking was the last thing she needed to do.

“Okay, let’s get the script going then,” She muttered to herself. “First, maybe I’ll raid Mum’s liquor cabinet and pished, no, she’d kick my arse if I did that. No drink, unfortunately. Okay, looks like I’ll have to start somewhere else…”

She decided the best option was to ask advice from her mother.

“Mum?” She asked as she stepped into Minerva’s study. Her mother looked up from the transfiguration books she was currently glancing over, and her expression softened.

“What’s wrong, Harry?” She asked carefully.

“I… I just need to talk to you for a while, or something. I need to get out of my own head or something,” Harry admitted. “I’m going a bit barmy with all the nonsense that’s flying around. I… haven’t been sleeping well, and all sorts of other things like that.”

“You’ve put the weight of the world on your shoulders,” Minerva said sympathetically. “And things haven’t been helped by the fact that I’ve had to stay so distant from you for the sake of keeping the little peace we have left.”

“I know that, that’s why I’m trying to draft a plan of some kind,” Harry said, shaking her head. “Am I crazy for classifying Umbridge as a more serious threat than Riddle?”

“At the moment, she may very well be,” Minerva said tersely. “While, uh, _Tom_ represents a significant threat to Britain as a whole, he has been silent since you humiliated him in the Great Hall. Umbridge and Minister Fudge, however, seem hell-bent on destroying everything in an attempt to humiliate you. So no, you’re not crazy for saying that. She _is_ a threat that is torturing students.”

“I… what do I do about it, then? I can’t _let_ her continue,” Harry explained, frustration simmering to the top of her voice.

“Severus informs me that your remarkable young lady has already come up with a plan, and to assure you that she has it well underhand, and is being advised by not only himself but Perinelle Flamel. Umbridge is a concern, but I think the consensus is that it is _no longer_ yours to bear. Focus on teaching the students who need it how to defend themselves, keep building that beautiful sense of self-worth.”

Harry took a deep breath of relief, before she glanced at her mother. “Hermione doesn’t deserve to have that kind of guilt on her shoulders.”

“Harry,” Minerva said, pursing her lips. “You are not Hermione’s mother, nor are you her caretaker. She is the best judge of her own character, and what she is capable of doing. I understand you’re stressed, and you try your damndest to protect everyone in your life, but I assure you– your intended is not _helpless,_ nor is she weak willed. She knows what she is doing, and is accepting of those consequences.”

“Right, sorry,” Harry murmured. “I’m just not used to letting other people solve these problems.”

“You’re forgiven, and understood,” Minerva said with a wry smile. “You don’t have to do it all alone, my beautiful daughter. You can ask for help, and it isn’t a weakness.”

Minerva looked at her seriously. “Now, there are more serious issues that perhaps you can have a hand in dealing with– the growing bigotry at Hogwarts is of significant concern to Albus, myself and Severus. We have come to a mutual conclusion that might bring about the inevitable riot we have been fearing for months now, or it might do the trick to stop this madness dead. Albus has proposed empowering you and your organization of supporters, and bequeathing you the task of the defence of the castle against invaders. Between your leadership skills, the Elder Wand, and that blasted Marauders’ Map, you would be well-suited to lead the charge.”

Harry looked alarmed, and frowned.

“I know it is a lot to ask a fifteen, nearly sixteen year old girl,” Minerva said, looking put out. “However, I will not lie by telling you that we are prepared for a fight against the Aurors, or against Tom Riddle.”

“I’ve been trying to make the ASD anything but a standing militia, are you actually proposing I _make it a proper militia_?”

“Yes, Umbridge cannot be allowed to continue her reign of terror. Your organization will be, hmm, creatively established from thin-air by directive of the Headmaster, as a means of expanding protection of Hogwarts from potential problems. Umbridge will protest this, certainly, but there is no law against it, at least, none that would apply at any given time.”

“That won’t stop her,” Harry remarked.

“No, but it’ll give us the perfect means to an end,” Minerva said with a shark-like grin. “Albus has already indicated he’s willing to go out in a blaze of glory if he needs to– between you and I, he has professed an interest in rekindling an old relationship he had with Perinelle and her husband, and going back to alchemy. This business has rattled his cage about old age, and he’s getting antsy to do something other than rot behind a desk for eternity.”

“In the middle of a war?” Harry asked, incredulously.

“The myth that You-Know-Who is terrified of Albus Dumbledore and wouldn’t dare attack Hogwarts while he resides there is utter tosh. The only reason he _hasn’t_ gone after Hogwarts is because of the logistics. Some of the oldest wards on the island, nearly impenetrable– the only person who could bring down such wards would be thousands of wardbreakers, or someone with the Elder Wand throwing literally all their power into a spell to overload them. But breaking the wards isn’t the hard part, it’s occupying the castle and grounds. Think about it this way– how many secret corridors, annexes, and dead-ends do you know of?”

“Too many,” Harry said thoughtfully.

“Indeed. Theoretically, any invasion force would have to contend with that, ghosts acting in the defence of the school, plus whatever defenders could cook up– all the statues are rigged to join a fight, you know. I’m rather proud of myself for that one. Suffice it to say– it isn’t Albus Dumbledore that’s the source of his reluctance. Even more so now that you’re able to defeat him in a duel. The man was right there in the heart of Hogwarts, poised with his lieutenant to kill and maim everyone, but you _bested him._ That is the most important thing. He’s terrified of you, Harry.”

“That,” Minerva said airily. “And I think Albus is quite content with leaving you as his… heiress, so to speak. You’ve helped him mend the guilt he felt for his sister’s death, repair his relationship with his younger brother, and have relieved him of his terrible concern with the Deathly Hallows. I think now he’s able to put his mind back to what he did so well when he was a young man: being a leader of men and a strategist, as well as pursuing his zeal for learning.”

Minerva gently placed her hand on Harry’s arm, and squeezed it.

“He trusts you. I trust you. You are so brave, so strong, and I cannot express how proud of you I am, Harry. We’ll beat all this madness together, as a family.”

Harry looked thoughtful, before a look crossed her face. She turned to face her mother, face set in stone.

“Mum, I… think there’s one more thing I want your advice on…”

…

**December 31, 1995**  
**England**

The telephone in the upstairs hallway let out its usual shrill ring. An attic door popped open, and the wild-haired Hermione Granger climbed down from the area that she had set aside as her potions lab. Wiping the sweat off her hands, she picked up the telephone.

“Granger residence, Hermione speaking.”

“Mia!” Harry’s voice came from the other end. “Is it alright for me to pop over? Have you got guests?”

“No, Jamie, not yet– we’re not expecting them until later tonight. You’re safe.”

“Wonderful. Be right over!” Harry said, before the line clicked and went dead. Suddenly, Hermione heard the resounding _pop!_ of someone apparating. The front doorbell rang, and Hermione quickly made her way downstairs and opened it to greet her girlfriend. They shared a hug and a kiss before Harry entered the house and shed her coat on the nearby rack.

“Hope I look presentable and all that,” Harry said with a grin.

“It won’t be that fancy, you know. Just a few family and friends,” Hermione said with a gesture.

“They’re not going to make a deal out of you and I, right?”

“Aunt Ellie might, but I don’t think it’ll go much beyond snide remarks. She’s more of a posh snob than she is a bigot.”

“Oh, she’s one of _those_ types then, is she?” Harry said, a predatory grin crossing her face. “If you need me to crack open a watermelon with my thighs, love, just say the word.”

“Y-You can do that?” Hermione asked, blushing.

“You don’t spend your entire life riding professional racing brooms and get nothing from it.”

“Well, no, no, behave yourself– Professor McGonagall would be mortified if you made a spectacle of yourself.”

“Mum would understand– she can’t stand posh people. Always putting on airs and graces, aren’t they? It’s the same reason that I can’t fucking stand all the pureblood arseholes either.”

“Well, Jamie, love, just go ahead and take a seat and relax. I’ve got to dash upstairs right quick and do something.”

“Anything I can help with?”

“Ah, well, no,” Hermione said apologetically. “Strict orders from your mum, Professor Westlake, Snape and Dumbledore that you’re strictly not to be involved in this.”

“Ah, right,” Harry said, a look of irritation on her face. “Right then, I’ll go see if your mum needs any help in the kitchen. And she’d better let me, because I’m not about to spend the next six hours doing nothing but sit on my arse and twiddle my thumbs.”

Hermione sighed and went upstairs, leaving Harry to her own devices.

…

Harry pushed open the kitchen door, to find Monica Granger working away at her New Years’ Eve meal.

“’lo, Monica,” Harry greeted.

“Harry! I’m glad you could make it,” Monica said with a grin. “Where’s Hermione?”

“Ah, she had to go upstairs to look after her, uh, project. You know the one,”

“Indeed,” Monica said primly.

“Would you like some help?” Harry asked carefully.

Monica blinked at her and then grinned and nodded. “Yeah, would you mind taking care of the vegetables and potatoes while I work on the main course? I’m so used to having Wendell take care of the odds and ends, but he’s been really busy today.”

“Oh?” Harry asked.

“Well, today’s the last day for a lot of our patients’ insurance policies, so we sort of… fit a lot of patients in at once. Unfortunately, Wendell is a general dentist, I’m a specialist– so I was at least able to get out of the office early today.”

“Well, that’s good. Mia tells me you’ve got family and the like coming.”

“Some colleagues too, but yes, my sister and her kids will be here– Lord help us. She means well, most of the time, but she’s kind of a bitch. Do you get what I mean?”

“Sure,” Harry said with a nod as she went to task on the side dishes.

…

The party was in full swing. Many people from Hermione’s immediate family and their friends were present, mingling about. Harry was so happy to see that nearly everyone didn’t seem to care very much about who Harry was, or the relationship she shared with Hermione. The only person who seemed to care much at all was the posh Aunt Ellie– who had been backhanded in all of her compliments and remarks. All this contemptable woman’s comments did was pool the resolve in Harry’s chest and stomach, giving her the courage she needed to do what her heart told her to do.

But it wasn’t quite the right time yet, her magic almost _whispered_ to her. It wasn’t the thing of books, like soul bonds or Fate, but Harry knew when the moment would come.

On the back patio of the Granger residence, they’d put together an impromptu dance floor. A wide assortment of popular Muggle pop music out at the time filled the air as people took to the floor and danced around awkwardly or not-so-awkwardly depending on the circumstance. Hermione and her were still kept busy by their other obligations– Harry was happy to help Monica keep the peace, and occasionally had to use her transfiguration skills to keep people from drinking too much, or to perhaps convince them to stay home for the evening instead; while Hermione was still busy running upstairs to check on her projects.

As the night grow longer, Hermione eventually emerged from her project and fully engaged the party. Harry watched her carefully as she made the rounds to her family and old family friends that she had long left behind in her new world. Uncles and Aunts offering choice advice and a few high value pound notes here or there; given out of charity or perhaps inebriated spirit of giving, and old friends of the family being cordial and warm to the daughter of their two friends. Harry, however, _knew_ that this was no longer Hermione’s world. Scream and cry the bigots might, but Harry knew the indisputable, incorruptible, untameable truth.

She heard the clandestine popping of the arrival of her own entourage, a silent agreement to keep things as quiet as possible. Her surreptitious glances at Monica and Wendell indicated that they had noticed the arrival of all of Harry’s family. Monica gave Harry a wink, and a nod to get on with it.

Setting down the iced tea she’d been nursing for some time, Harry made her way towards her girlfriend, who was in the middle of one of her aunt’s more… colourful expressions.

“Oh, Hermione, dear, you should _see_ Samantha’s new boyfriend. He’s at the top of his class and is looking at early entrance to Oxford,” She tittered lightly. “Any luck in the boy department? You see, Tommy has this cousin-”

Harry cut in before Hermione could respond.

“As it just so happens, madam, Hermione _needs_ no assistance in the boy department,” Harry said frostily, wrapping her arm around Hermione’s waist. “If you’ll excuse us, I owe my magnificent moonbeam here a proper dance.”

She led Hermione across the crowd towards the area where the deejay they’d hired for the party was running the music.

“You got that song I gave you?”

“Yeah, lass. Good thing I had a turntable.”

The music cut off and was replaced by another tune, and Harry gently grasped Hermione’s hand and led her out onto the floor. The gentle and slow piano at first had allowed for those who were not in couples or were awkward with close dancing to leave the floor, before the scratchy voice filled the air.

_Maybe I’m amazed_  
_at the way you love me all the time_  
_Maybe I’m afraid of the way I love you,_

Harry’s eyes were only for Hermione’s expression of shock, and then of love as they swept nearly every other presence off the dance floor, the assembled group watching the two girls dance intimately to a song that Harry felt could only scratch the surface of the love that Harry felt for Hermione.

_…maybe you’re the only woman_  
_Who could ever help me_  
_Baby won’t you help me understand?_

Harry knew that now was the right time, and a small smile crossed her lips.

_Maybe I’m amazed at the way you help me sing my song_  
_Right me when I’m wrong_  
_Maybe I’m amazed at the way I really need you…_

As the song came to an end, Harry held Hermione close as she could, and dipped her and gave her the most romantic kiss she could muster in one go.

When Hermione opened her eyes, Harry held them for a brief moment before a microphone was placed in her hands, given to her by the deejay.

“Hermione Jean Granger,” Harry began, tears percolating in her eyes. “Words cannot begin to express how much I love you. I love your mind, your heart, your soul. From the very first day we met, from the moment you stepped into my train compartment, I think I knew that I loved you more than life itself could ever show. When you took ill in second year, I was beside myself with grief, inconsolable, wishing for my own miserable end so that I did not have to spend a singular day without you. When we shared our first kiss in Edo, I knew then that you were the woman for me, no matter what the cost may be. We have known for a long time that we were always meant to be together, and that our future together is so very bright, and I don’t wish to go another day without that warmth in my heart that belongs to you. Hermione, my love, would you marry me?”

She had sunk to one knee, and had produced the very same ring that James Potter had presented to Lily Evans during his proposal. It was a cliché, a terrible cliché at that, but Harry knew that she was looking into the eyes of her wife to be, the woman she would spend every waking moment of the rest of her life with, and felt nobody better to give such a ring to than her Hermione.

“Oh,” Hermione said, tears in her eyes, a look of genuine surprise and unrestrained love on her face.

“Oh, my sweet Harry, _of course,_” She gushed. “I love you, and I would love nothing more than to marry you.”

Harry grinned at her and slipped the ring on her finger, and the quiet, romantic air was shattered by the sound of Harry’s family erupting into loud, raucous cheers, followed by loud, thunderous clapping from Monica and Wendell.

The rest of the family was in shock, particularly Ellie, who looked like she’d just eaten an entire lemon.

Harry embraced Hermione tightly, and spun her around in a circle. “Thank you, Hermione. You’ve just made me the happiest girl on Earth.”

“That’s my line, Jamie,” Hermione said faintly, rubbing her thumb over Harry’s bare knuckle.

“Did you plan all this?” Hermione hissed.

“You can’t be the only one with surprises, my love,” Harry said fondly. “I asked my mother permission first, and then broached the subject with your parents. If it’s alright with you, I’d like to make it official on your birthday.”

“My birthday?” Hermione whispered.

“You only need to be sixteen in Scotland to marry, but I promised your folks I’d wait until you were legal age,” Harry murmured. The legal age of marriage in England was 17 at the time.

After that excitement, everyone seemed to be in better spirits– except for Aunt Ellie, who ended up getting turfed out of the party by an irate group of adults after she’d made some disparaging remarks about Hermione getting knocked up by the ugly Scottish transvestite dyke. According to rumours in the party immediately afterwards, she’d gotten bitten on the bum by a snarling black dog as soon as she’d been tossed out of the party by the angry parents, she’d had a terrible breakout of boils, and she’d had violent diarrhoea for several days after the event, which the doctors attributed to her high alcohol levels at the time, combined with eating some spoiled clams.

Other than that bit of unpleasantness, Harry and Hermione rung in 1996 with nothing but love and joy in their hearts, and a heart full of optimism for the future to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song that plays before the proposal is "Maybe I'm Amazed" by Paul McCartney, from his debut solo album McCartney.


	20. Operation Valkyrie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You think I'm not above making references to history that are wildly inappropriate? You underestimate me.

“How many?” Albus asked, weaving his fingers together and leaning his chin on them.

“According to the portraits and Poppy, six Gryffindors and three Slytherins– not nearly as many as we initially expected, but too many. Fred, George, Ginevra and Ronald Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Lee Jordan, Marcus Flint, Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini,” Severus said, reading off the small sheet of parchment he had gotten from Harry.

“High profile individuals, all with ties to Harry,” Albus murmured. “I know for certain that the Weasley matriarch is not pleased, and has had to be restrained from storming the school and killing the bat where she stands.”

“That doesn’t surprise me at all,” Severus snorted.

“More so, they’re all scions of high profile pureblood houses. Strange, isn’t it?” Albus contemplated. “Has she targeted anybody from Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw?”

“No,” Severus said, frowning. “She has so far restrained from attacking her power-base. I wager her efforts right now are aimed at alienating people from Harry in order to deny her allies that may be used against the Ministry.”

Albus rubbed his head. “Has Miss Granger given us any indications about her progress?”

“I visited her home last night,” Severus said. “It seems that she has completed the potion and it is ready to go– as well, you may want to send congratulations to her and Harry. Apparently, Harry proposed to her at a New Year’s Eve party.”

Albus blinked. “Harry proposed to her?”

“Indeed,” Severus said with a nod. “She sends her apologies that she did not invite you for the magical moment, but she says she will be more than happy to provide a Pensieve memory for your perusal. She said, and I quote, ‘I know how much the Headmaster loves his sappy romance stories’.”

Albus started chuckling loudly. “Goodness, what a clever girl.”

Severus nodded. “She is much like her mother in that regard. Never lacking in the energy to lightly rib you.”

“She’s like the granddaughter I never had,” Albus said wistfully. “I suppose, as bad as things have become, I should be grateful it has given me the opportunity to be such good friends and colleagues with such a bright young woman.”

The silence between the two men was shared for a moment before Albus took in a deep breath.

“When Miss Granger returns with the potion, you know what must be done?” Albus asked.

Severus glanced at the Headmaster and narrowed his eyes. “This is not my first dance with danger like this, Headmaster. That being said, I have some ideas on how to proceed once she’s incapacitated.”

“Oh?”

…

**January 7, 1996**

As the countryside slowly melted away, the mood in the cabin that contained Harry Potter and her closest friends and loved ones was very subdued. Each couple gently held each other’s hand, but said nothing. It seemed as if the universe itself was in a terrible agreement at the subdued feelings of everyone making their way back to Hogwarts, as the snowfall had become quite heavy as the train disembarked at Hogsmeade.

The tensions were just as rife as they’d ever been, with Gryffindors and Slytherins shooting their yellow and eggshell blue counterparts dirty looks, and vice versa. Tightening her jaw, she pressed forward, climbing into the Thestral-drawn carriage with Hermione, Draco and Ron, and riding up to the castle together.

Harry watched the professors at the head of the hall carefully as she stepped through the foyer of the Great Hall. Professor Dumbledore stood, hands folded in front of him, ever the image of a man no longer living in the lap of whimsy. The grandfatherly persona was all but gone, replaced by the calculating man Harry had come to respect so much.

Flanked on each side– Harry’s mother, and the High Inquisitor, along with each staff member as the table extended outwards. As she and the other students took their seat, Dumbledore cleared his throat.

“To those of who whom spent your holidays at home, welcome back– and to them and everyone, I hope that the Yule holiday was satisfactory, and full of joy and merriment,” He said. “I shall not waste any more of your time this evening, so please, enjoy the feast!”

Nothing substantive happened at the feast, with Dolores merely shooting the assembled mass of Slytherins and Gryffindors dark glares. Once Harry had retired to her and Hermione’s quarters for the evening, she was met by a nervous house elf wearing a shabby robe with the Hogwarts crest on it.

“Headmaster Dumblydore has asked for Miss Harry and Miss Hermione in his office,” she said, tugging her ear. “He says it’s important.”

Harry and Hermione glanced at each other, and after getting themselves back into some form of presentable, the excitable young house elf popped them across the castle into the Headmaster’s private study. In the room already were Minerva, Albus and Severus– though they were also joined by Sirius, Narcissa and Andromeda.

“Ah, Harry, Hermione, thank you for joining us,” Albus said happily. “Severus made some suggestions earlier today that I wanted to speak to you about. Just as soon as I’ve made the preparations for the paperwork to immediately create the Hogwarts Defence League and all the requisite things therein, I came to the realization we’d have a glaring vacancy in the position of Defence against the Dark Arts.”

“So you’ll need to fill that vacancy, I guess,” Harry said, eyebrow raised.

“I already have, dear girl. You.”

“Me?” Harry said, blinking in surprise.

“Indeed,” Albus said, before drawing a large book out of his desk and setting it on the desk in front of the assembled group. He tapped it once with his wand, and it flipped open, flowing dozens of pages before stopping.

“Charter and Codex for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; Subsection ‘Qualifications for Hiring’, Addendum 1979,” Albus said, before clearing his throat. “Understanding the high rate of turnover in which Hogwarts fails to retain ‘Defence Against the Dark Arts’ professors, and further understanding the general need in this terrible time of war to ensure the continuity of Hogwarts in the event of serious damage to the well-being and longevity of the community, the Hogwarts Board of Governors hereforth grants the Headmaster permission to employ any individual he or she sees fit in the Defence Against the Dark Arts department, so long as said individual has an acceptable score on their Ordinary Wizarding Levels. So moved, so voted, so ratified, August 28, 1979, Hogwarts Board of Governors; Lord Arcturus Black presiding.”

“Is that how they got Umbridge appointed?” Harry asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Actually, not. I did a look into the records, Dolores Umbridge finished her Defence against the Dark Arts class with a ‘Dreadful’ grade. She didn’t take it sixth or seventh year, either,” Albus said with a wry shake of his head. “She was appointed by another Ministry decree entirely, one that I think is utter tosh, and violates the general spirit of Hogwarts’ charter. That being said, I am fully within my rights to appoint you to the position of Defence professor.”

Harry blinked and rubbed her forehead. “Okay, so putting aside the sheer lunacy of teach Defence against the Dark Arts… how do I do that if I still have classes to show up to?”

Albus glanced at Minerva, who nodded her assent and waved her hand in surrender. Albus opened one of his desk drawers and pulled out a small golden chain with an orb at the end and placed it on the desk.

“A Time Turner,” Hermione breathed.

“Indeed,” Albus said wryly. “It’ll be a bit… _unorthodox_, and we’ll be doing it without the Ministry’s permission, but I’ll give you this Time Turner to use to attend your classes and teach your classes.”

“Bloody hell, I’m going to have to constantly sleep, aren’t I?” Harry murmured, rubbing her forehead.

“We’ll make accommodations,” Albus said gently. “First, Severus and I have agreed to move the offices and classroom to a place that’s more centrally accessible to your quarters– and we’ll be moving around office hours and class times to fit as best as we can. It isn’t perfect, but if I may be honest, with all the terrible things going on, you are truly the one person I know I can trust to teach these students to the best of your ability, Harry.”

“Maybe instead of subjecting the students to being taught by Harry Potter, which I doubt will go over well with the Inquisitorial Squad and their cronies, I could come up with a disguise of some kind,” Harry said thoughtfully.

Everyone watched as she grew several inches, her currently-ginger hair turned dark brown and lengthened, losing all the curl and wave and becoming incredibly straight. She opened her eyes– which were now a shimmering amethyst purple, and her clothing flickered briefly, becoming an emerald green suit jacket and slacks, a black pinstripe blouse and silver tie, along with a pair of heeled dragonhide boots.

“The only thing I’ll need,” came the voice from the now unfamiliar woman. “Is a glamour for the Elder Wand– it’d be rather obvious if I run around with it while in this persona.”

“Wow, you look amazing,” Hermione said in awe at her fiancée, who flashed her a smirk.

“What’s her name going to be?” Sirius asked, eyebrow raised.

“Aurora, after her nickname on the Tiresian Map,” Hermione said with a grin.

“We could have her pretend to be a bastard of the Black family,” Sirius said.

“Oh, that might work,” Aurora said with a sniff. “I’d be honoured, really,”

“Aurora Black,” Dumbledore said with a nod. “I like the idea.”

“You realize this is incredibly silly, right?” Aurora asked, gently waving the Elder Wand, which morphed into the shaping of a slightly longer holly wand. She could feel the wand grumble at being hidden.

“It’s a prank worthy of your father and godfather,” Albus said, his eyes sparkling with joy.

“And it is far less dangerous than any of the foolish pranks your father and this mutt pulled,” Severus muttered, glaring at Sirius.

“James and Lily are probably laughing their arses off at the very idea,” Sirius said with a grin, ignoring Severus completely.

…

Late in the evening, Dolores Umbridge sat in her disgustingly saccharine office, looking over the papers on her desk. She was becoming increasingly frustrated with the slow efforts at Hogwarts. Trying to undermine that contemptable half-breed and the senile Headmaster was hard work, particularly when she had to be very careful about just how much hostility she stoked among the student body.

Grumbling to herself, she stood up and walked over to the window, staring out of it with a sour expression on her face. All sorts of thoughts about what she’d like to do that Potter brat filled her head. The sound of the door to her office creaking drew her attention, and she turned, only to get a face full of a bright red spell.

Severus Snape grabbed the hefty toad-like woman and lowered her down into her chair. Andromeda Tonks quickly set out to manage the woman’s memories of the last couple minutes while Severus drew a vial of potion from his pocket and dosed a rather cold mug of tea with it–as far as Umbridge would be aware, she had nodded off at her desk. As soon as she warmed her tea up, she’d activate the potion catalyst.

“Have you got it?” He asked carefully.

“Yes,” Andromeda responded tersely. “I do know what I’m doing, Severus.”

“Good, now leave, so we can finish this nonsense once and for all,” Severus hissed, throwing Harry’s invisibility cloak around him and hiding.

He cast an _enervate_, and watched as Umbridge slowly awoke from her stunner-induced slumber. The woman jerked awake and blinked in surprise, before her eyes fell on her cup of tea. She took a deep breath, frowned and shuffled some papers on her desk.

Her slightly stubby wand tapped the mug and Severus could almost _cackle_ as steam began to pour from it. The woman picked it up and took a long drink, before going back to scratching out notes on the parchment.

Severus watched as the potion began to take effect–her skin began to turn pale, and she began to sweat profusely, rubbing at her arm and chest in an attempt to alleviate whatever discomfort she was feeling.

Almost unceremoniously, Dolores passed out at her desk. As soon as her lights had gone out, Severus rose to his feet and vanished the tea and the mug completely, along with straightening up the office to ensure there was no sight of anybody ever coming in other than her, and set off back towards the Headmaster’s suite. He cast a multitude of spells to clean his wand of any wrongdoing.

Once he’d arrived back at the top of the stairs, he pulled the cloak off and came face to face with the assembled conspirators.

“It’s done,” He said proudly. “Miss Granger’s potion worked wonderfully.”

“Good,” Albus murmured. “That will hopefully keep things from boiling over.”

…

“I regret to inform you all that late last night, our very own High Inquisitor, Dolores Umbridge, collapsed,” Albus said gravely at the following morning’s breakfast, not betraying a single bit of emotion. “She has been remanded to the hospital wing for intensive care, but Madame Pomfrey has informed me that her situation is critical.”

He unravelled a sheet of parchment in front of him and glanced at it. “She suffered from a combination of heart attack and stroke brought on from extreme stress and poor diet. It is unlikely she will reawaken at this time, and will remain in the Hogwarts infirmary on life support until such a time she does reawaken. I hope you will all join me in keeping her in your thoughts as we transition through this troubled time.”

He took a deep breath. “Defence classes will be cancelled for the remainder of this week while we begin our search for an interim Defence professor.”

Murmuring was spreading through the hall. Roger Davies stood up. “Potter’s tried to kill her!” He shouted angrily.

“Mister Davies, you will be quiet!” Professor Flitwick raged. “Another word like that and I will have you out on your ear, young man!”

“Amazing,” Harry said loudly, clearly full of sarcasm. “I can’t even go a single day at this bloody castle without being accused of murder.”

It was to no surprise that news of this quickly spread. Amelia Bones had heard about it almost immediately from her niece, and was already making plans for how this factored into all sorts of things. Just after twelve o’clock, she received a summons from Minister Fudge.

“Shit,” Amelia said, frowning. “Something tells me this isn’t going to go well.”

She drew her wand and cast off several Patronus messages, including communicating with all senior Aurors.

“_Frogspawn out of picture. Operational condition Red. All hands on deck. Operation Valkyrie to begin immediately._”

With the message now sent out, she rose from her office chair, dusted herself off, took a long drink of the cup of coffee on her desk, and prepared to make history.

Down in the Department of Records, Janice Spellman’s fists tightened in defiance. Waving her wand, she watched as the grand Lovelace information network that she weaved with her girls slowly locked down. Similar things began to take place at the Floo Office, Portkey Office, and Warding Office.

Amelia, Shacklebolt and Tonks made their way up to the Minister’s office, with various Aurors following behind them, taking up positions in inconspicuous, yet strategic places.

As soon as she’d stepped through the door, the Minister had been hot, shooting from his seated position at his desk—his face a rather unpleasant shade of red and slightly-purple, a vein throbbing in his head.

“I want them both arrested at once!” He screeched.

“Who?” Amelia asked dryly.

“Potter and Dumbledore! They’re behind this! They’re trying to kill Dolores!” He screeched, banging his fists on the desk.

Amelia raised her eyebrow. “Have you got any proof of such a conspiracy, sir?” She asked sweetly.

“What proof do I need? I’m the Minister for Magic!” He scoffed, as if it was the most obvious thing ever.

“Mmhm, right,” Amelia said, before drawing herself up and nodding to Shack and Tonks, and drawing her wand, aiming it directly at the Minister.

The Minister froze. “What’s the meaning of this?” He demanded, eyes flickering between Amelia’s eyes and her wand.

“In the name of the people of Britain, you’re under arrest, Minister,” Amelia said firmly, scowling.

“Are you threatening me, Madame Bones?” Fudge asked, eyebrow raised.

“Not a threat, sir, no. The tribunals will decide your fate, not me.” She said off-handed, smirking.

“It’s treason, then,” He said frostily.

“_Stupefy!_” Amelia said coolly, and with a flash of red light, Cornelius Fudge toppled to the ground.

“Take care of his secretary,” she ordered, glaring at Tonks, who quickly went to arrest the Minister’s secretary.

As Kingsley began to wrap up the Minister’s unconscious body, a silver Patronus came filtering in, and the voice of Percy Weasley spoke from it.

_“All communications and transport in and out of the Ministry have been secured, ma’am.”_

On each level, going down the Ministry for Magic’s very core, each and every possible person still in the building found themselves summarily under arrest, unless they were joined into the grand conspiracy to start with.

In the grand Wizengamot chamber, the greycloaks and Unspeakables were gathered in the galley as the majority of the Wizengamot that was in the building that day was gathered together, sans their wands.

“Most esteemed members of the All-British Wizengamot,” Amelia addressed the masses, standing before them wand in hand. “I regret to inform you that as of this morning, Minister Fudge and Undersecretary Umbridge handed in their resignations, and I have been forced to take command of the government to preserve the security and sanctity of our world.”

“Do you really expect to get away with this?” came a low hiss from the senior Nott.

“I expect every man to do his duty, no matter the cost,” Amelia said simply. “Suffice it to say, your services, our esteemed colleagues, are no longer required. Those of you who have not sworn your oath to a madman, will be released without incident, should you cooperate. Those of you who have taken the branding of a madman, will find yourself in worse straits than you could have ever imagined.”

A roar of objection rose up, but Amelia turned on heel and looked at the Aurors and greycloaks assigned to this task.

“Don’t fuck it up,” she ordered, before stalking out of the room, Tonks and Shack on her heels.

The Ministry’s main building was not the only place where the winds of change blew straight and fast. Diagon Alley saw the arrival of several Aurors, many of them of foreign birth and hire, quickly occupying strategic positions, and raiding the Daily Prophet.

Seeing Barnabas Cuffe arrested and carted off had shaken the beehive– what was happening?

…

It wasn’t until the following morning, when the Daily Prophet was delivered to all the students at Hogwarts, that the reality sank in.

**COMMITTEE FOR PUBLIC SAFETY FORMED– BONES PROMISES SWIFT ACTION AGAINST ALL ENEMIES**

On the front cover, Amelia Bones, Percy Weasley, Arthur Weasley, Gareth Mullins, Elphias Doge, Amos Diggory, Janice Spellman, Mad-Eye Moody, Nymphadora Tonks, Kingsley Shacklebolt and several other key members of the Ministry for Magic standing in the atrium, together– dour faces on all of them.

_Yesterday, citing failure to follow constitutional precedent and continued ignoring of the current threat to public safety in the form of You-Know-Who, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has assumed control of day-to-day operations of government. In a stunning revelation, newly-appointed Lead Tribune Amelia Bones has announced the arrest of over 100 Ministry employees associated with the terrorist organization known as the Death Eaters, including several high-ranking Wizengamot representatives…_

Members of the High Inquisitors began to stir up anger, before the doors to the Great Hall blew open, and the visage of Aurora Black stormed in. With a wave of her wand, everybody shouting and arguing amongst themselves over the revelation found themselves silenced in a fell swoop.

She glanced at the poorly-concealed smirk of her true self, who was hiding it in Hermione’s bushy hair. With a smirk of her own, she fixed Albus with a firm look.

“Headmaster Dumbledore, I am here to assist you in any way I can,” she said, laying on with a rather posh accent like Sirius, Draco and Hermione had.

“Ah, wonderful,” Dumbledore said, rising to his feet. “Students, I should like for you to meet our new Interim Defence professor, Madame Aurora Black. She will be taking over all of Madame Umbridge’s courses while the aforementioned dear friend of ours is incapacitated. Please give her a warm Hogwarts welcome,”

Muted applause and sneering was the response she got before with another flourish of her wand, the silencing charm was lifted.

“It is my pleasure to be here, and to see all your bright faces,” she said sweetly. “I know we’ll get along, though I do warn you all now– my classes will not be playtime. You will learn to defend yourself against all manner of terrible foes, both magic and muggle. Do keep that in mind. All students currently in my class will find an updated timetable and office hours now available to them from their Head of House. Thank you for your cooperation,” she said with a wry smile.

“Furthermore, in these trying times,” Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling at full bore. “Madame Black has graciously volunteered to assume leadership of the Hogwarts Defence League, an organization to help protect the school from all manner of attack. Students interested in membership are asked to please speak to their Head of House.”

“Thank you, Headmaster,” she said with a bow, before waving her wand and conjuring up a lapel pin—a pentagonal heraldry shield with a phoenix and a dragon on it, with an H emblazoned across it.

Aurora took her seat at the Staff Table and pensively watched over the mass of students. Her true self had slid back behind occlumency shields and was having a tight conversation with Hermione and Draco, though her eyes kept drifting back to the students she knew to be Inquisitorial Squad members.

“I’ll have to interview them individually,”

“As is your right as Interim High Inquisitor, Professor Black,” Dumbledore said wryly.

“Good.”

…

The following morning saw the promulgation of a new Educational Decree—this one coming to the surprise of nearly everyone—Educational Decree no.29 formally invalidated and redacted the bans on cosmetic magic (much to the relief of 95 percent of the student body), fraternization, and formally disbanded the Inquisitorial Squad.

It was to no surprise that subsequently, every member of the former Inquisitorial Squad had found themselves losing house-points and earning detentions by the boat-load. It quickly spread through the school that where Dolores Umbridge tolerated bigotry, spitefulness and racism—Aurora Black did not. While she did not have total say over all punishments, sanctioned and removals of privilege; none of the four Heads of House, nor Headmaster Dumbledore found fault in the long-reaching punishments handed out to individuals like Roger Davies.

The establishment of the HDL had gone over well enough as well. Harry was, as a point of fact, not _officially_ involved in the HDL at all, her name specifically being omitted from the merger of the Army of the Slumbering Dragon and the new organization. With Aurora as the ranking commander of the HDL, group leaders, called Sentinels, were appointed from each house’s loyalists.

Pansy from Slytherin, Ginny from Gryffindor, Sally-Anne Perks from Hufflepuff and Kevin Entwhistle from Ravenclaw—each one was named Sentinel, with a horde of student volunteers, mostly people who had pointedly refused to support Umbridge (and their racist schoolmates, at that).

The HDL soon augmented school patrols at night, becoming their main goal of ensuring the long-standing safety of Hogwarts.

After a few days of everything trying to settle down to some happy medium with most of the strife between students suppressed by force of arms, Defence classes began again with a new room and new office.

Aurora was already seated on her desk as the familiar faces of the fifth year Slytherin-Gryffindor class began to filter in. She actually supposed it was quite a blessing she wasn’t taking the class in her Harry form, she’d have to be barmy to try to balance that on top of everything else she was bloody dealing with at any given moment.

As well, this was probably the easiest class for her to teach regularly, since she had nothing better to do for the hour anyway.

“Welcome to what is properly the time where you learn just how capable you are at defending yourself against all manner of dark wizard. I understand your previous teacher was very strict about emphasizing theory only, no practical. Well, I am here to tell you now that without the practical application, you are sitting ducks. Every last one of you.”

Murmuring broke out and she gave a wry grin.

“In the five months we have together until you seat your OWLs, we will be focusing purely on the same sort of thing that the Aurors do. We will not be wasting our time with spells that have no… serious use in battle. Seeing as the Gryffindors and Slytherins have taken Miss Potter’s words of warning the most seriously, I should not have to impress upon you the seriousness of the situation we are in. Now, to begin, here are your new textbooks.”

The textbook was, in fact, a pretty thick trainee manual for Aurors—the same one Harry had used to study NEWT-level Defence, penned by Rufus Scrimgeour.

“This book is the first thing all recruit Aurors are given to begin practicing for their admissions exam. If you’ll turn your books to the first chapter, you’ll see how the practical portions are broken down. Offensive Spellcasting, Defensive Spellcasting, Healing, Concealment, Disguise, Stealth, Tracking. Our main focuses will be on the former two categories, but we will be touching on the remainder towards the end of the term, and in your NEWT classes. Any questions?”

…

This was the normalcy, at least on the surface. With the Ministry coup d’état, a lot of the students found themselves in a rather rough spot. Harry had sat in on enough negotiation meetings between Amelia Bones and Albus over specifics about Ministry control over the school, and the chaos that had been sown from the coup meant that the Death Eaters had finally gotten their opportunity to strike in retaliation for the mass arrest of their fellow travellers.

An attempted breakout of Azkaban by Death Eaters had been foiled—with the decimation of the Dementors, it meant that the significant presence of soul-sucking demons was lacking, and the Aurors were able to hold the entrances to the island against the onslaught of what were admittedly not Voldemort’s most crack troops.

In the aftermath, the Committee had authorized the liquidation of Azkaban’s most violent prisoners. This meant that Lucius Malfoy and Peter Pettigrew had very little time to plead for mercy before they were disposed of in a flash of green light. The only indication such an action had taken place was the singular black envelope that the Ministry owl carried to Draco at breakfast.

Reading it over briefly, Draco deflated in relief as he forked it over to Harry for her to read.

_Dear Master Malfoy,_

> _By decree of the Committee of Public Safety, convicted Death Eater Lucius Abraxas Malfoy was formally executed for his crimes yesterday morning. His body will be disposed of in accordance with Azkaban policies on deceased inmates. No further action is required on your part. _

_LIBERTY, EQUALITY AND FRATERNITY FOR ALL WIX_

> _Alastor Moody, OM 1st Class_
> 
> _Adjutant Minister of Law Enforcement and Public Security, Committee of Public Safety_

Immediately afterwards, another owl, this one carrying a white envelope, fluttered through the rafters and landed in front of Harry. Graciously accepting the letter and feeding the owl a portion of sausage she had on her plate, she popped it open and read the parchment below.

_Dear Miss Potter,_

> _In accordance with the Declaration of the Ninth of January 1996, the Committee of Public Safety formally suspended the day-to-day operations of the All-British Wizengamot._
> 
> _Pursuant to the suspension of noble family regulatory laws, and as part of efforts to review all actions taken by the Wizengamot since the defeat of Lord Voldemort on the Thirty-First of October 1981, your petition filed July the Thirty-First, 1995 to formally have your legal gender changed from ‘Male’ to ‘Female’ has been backdated and approved._
> 
> _Furthermore, the Department of Records has received and validated your filing of your established engagement to Hermione Jean Granger, filed the First of January 1996. Relevant documentation has been filed with the necessary Muggle authorities. At this time, no further action is required on your part._

_LIBERTY, EQUALITY AND FRATERNITY FOR ALL WIX_

> _Yours truly,_
> 
> _Dme. Janice Spellman_
> 
> _Adjutant Minister of Records and Public Affairs, Committee of Public Safety_

The Great Hall’s dull roar was broken with the sight of Harry Potter shouting for joy, sweeping Hermione up in her arms and dancing with her up the aisle between the Slytherin and Gryffindor tables.

…

Harry and Albus’ private meetings began again, now that the potential of a hostile Ministry presence interrupting them and presuming the worst was no longer a concern.

“I would like to discuss with you a matter of grave importance—the means in which Tom Riddle prolonged his life, and survived the fateful night he gave you that scar. It’s been a lot of time... with researching and looking up potential cross-references, but I believe I have figured it out.”

“From the tone of your voice, Headmaster,” Harry said, frowning. “It doesn’t sound good.”

“Please, my girl, in these meetings, you may call me Albus. Merlin knows you’ve earned the right.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Harry said. “How did Tom keep himself alive?”

“Horcruxes,” Albus said. “Do you recall the diary that possessed young Ginevra Weasley in your second year?”

“That was a horcrux?” Harry asked.

“Yes—one of, I believe, seven,” Dumbledore responded, looking grave. “A horcrux is a soul container. A depraved ritualistic one, at that. In order to create one, a person has to commit a foul murder and perform... a ritual that I would really rather not speak about. Suffice it to say—it requires intent and magical rituals to create. I presume he would aim for a number that has meaning in Arithmancy.”

“Three or seven, then,” Harry said.

“Yes—and I know for certain he has created at least three, if not more.”

“You said the diary was one—what were the two others?”

“The ring that nearly killed Alastor,” Albus said, ticking off his hand. “And the Locket of Slytherin that was in your godfather’s possession by proxy of his house elf.”

“You had the locket of Slytherin? And he turned it into a _horcrux?_” Harry said, outrage in her voice. “How dare he defile something so precious!”

“Unfortunately, even the method you used to destroy the horcrux in the ring was unable to save the ring, my method was just as destructive as that, much to my chagrin. Believe me, I would have loved to preserve such a historical artefact. It is in fact, that artefact, which makes me wonder if the other two lost relics of the founders have been converted to horcruxes as well.”

“Diary, locket, ring... plus two others. That’s five.”

“That leaves two more—I have some theories. I don’t believe he was done preparing horcruxes the night he felled your parents, first of all. He likely intended to make his sixth horcrux with the death of the only person prophesied to stop him—and then his seventh with something after defeating me, creating a perfect seven... but things did not turn out the way he planned.”

“My mother’s sacrifice prevented him from killing me,” Harry said with a nod. “Yes—so he only has five, then?”

“No, I believe that the incident around your death created a faux-Horcrux in your scar. Though, I will admit, I am far less convinced of this after your duel with him at the end of last year.”

Harry frowned and thought about it. “After he resurrected himself with my blood—when I went to confront him at Hogwarts. It was like someone had lit the inside of my body on fire, but... it wasn’t painful. I felt so angry, and I felt something in me _burning_.”

“I think whatever that was, combined with the massive amount of magical power you demonstrated against him, is an indicator that whatever was leeching off you is gone. That, and your scar has faded significantly since that day.”

Harry reached up and traced her finger through her scar and shrugged. “As long as I haven’t got to off myself to kill the greasy bastard, I’m fine with that.”

“Indeed,” Dumbledore said with a wry smile. “So that I believe, attributes for an unknown sixth Horcrux. He made an additional one, I believe, with the murder of Bertha Jorkins in the summer before your fourth year. Severus did note that he seemed quite pleased with himself, and kept his pet snake Nagini close by even more than ever—I believe she is likely the seventh horcrux.”

“Oh, bloody great, so I have to kill his snake before I can kill him.”

“Yes, unfortunately—though we do have a wondrous opportunity to now know exactly what all the Horcruxes might be. It becomes a matter of finding them, now.”

He placed a sheet of parchment in front of him and Harry peered at it carefully.

_Ring, Diary, Locket, Cup, Diadem, Harry, Nagini_

“We just need to find three more,” Harry said. “Do you have any idea where the last three might be?”

“Ah, therein lies our problem,” Dumbledore said with a sigh. “It’s entirely possible that they’re easily accessible, but there’s no way of knowing. Tom had a great obsession with Hogwarts, so it’s entirely possible they’re here—or he may have put them in the possession of his followers, like he did with Lucius and the diary.”

“Bellatrix is his second in command,” Harry suggested. “What if he gave her the Diadem or Cup? She’d have no place to put it except for her Gringotts vault.”

Albus regarded her in surprise. “I hadn’t considered that. If... if it’s that simple, then... Sirius should have it in the Black vaults? We’d need to contact the goblins and be diplomatic about it. They’re unlikely to be happy someone was storing a dark object like that in their catacombs. I’ll have Filius reach out to his cousin and see if there’s something that can be done. Excellent deduction, my dear.”

“Thank you,” Harry said brightly. “I don’t believe he’d stick two of them in the same place—not if they’re that valuable. The other one might be here at Hogwarts, or any place that has... sentimental value for him.”

“The only place that did, as far as I am aware, was Hogwarts.”

“Then it could very well be here—but we may want to go check places that have a certain personal connection to him, like maybe the orphanage you pulled him out of?”

Albus nodded carefully, and grinned. “Brilliant idea, but first, let’s see if we can’t snare ourselves one of his horcruxes from the Black family vault.”


	21. Reckless Behaviour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva has a conversation; Albus, Sirius and Harry fetch a horcrux; Hermione finally puts that lengthy book on psychology to use; and Percy Weasley needs a vacation.

“You operate under a rather foolish presumption,” Minerva began dryly. “that I have any say over the way my daughter lives her life?”

“I’m merely saying, Minerva, that allowing a sixteen-year-old to marry is a bit questionable,” Pomona said with a huff. “She’s just a girl!”

Minerva was never one for gossip, really, but she did have her small group of professors that she liked to discuss current events with—such as how their favourite students were handling things. Naturally, in the progression of the most recent discussions about how the school was coping with the aftermath of Dolores Umbridge, the topic of Harry and Hermione had come up—and their engagement.

“Harry Potter has, consistently, since the day she was born, had an absolute mountain of hippogriff shit dumped on her shoulders,” Minerva responded, taking a drink from her tea. “I adopted her, fully aware that I would need a certain degree of… subtlety in bringing her around to me. A six-year-old child, traumatized and abused… she didn’t need an overbearing disciplinarian like Molly Weasley, she needed a friend and a confidant.”

“It was certainly a change,” Rolanda commented idly. “More than once, I had to talk Minerva down from that sort of thing.”

“That’s all well and good, Minnie, but…”

“Harry defeated a grown troll at the age of eleven—tamed a basilisk at twelve—captured Peter Pettigrew single-handedly at thirteen—won a Triwizard Tournament at 14, and got an O+ on her Defence OWL at the same time. I reiterate that she does not need me to be overbearing,” Minerva sniffed. “And since when did you become an expert on motherhood, Pomona?”

Pomona flushed. “I’ll have you know I treat all my Hufflepuffs with the utmost maternal care!”

“Yet, your house was one of the ones most notable for their violent racism against my daughter,” Minerva said slyly, not looking at the matron of Hufflepuff.

“I suppose I deserve that,” Pomona said with a frown. “It isn’t exactly _easy_, you know. They cover for each other, for better or worse.”

“Yes, my lions do much the same thing,” Minerva snorted. “And from what Severus has told me, so do his snakes—Harry has single-handedly deconstructed and reconstructed the social order in that house to suit her ideals, almost as if it was second nature to her.”

Minerva took a deep breath and shrugged. “Were it anybody else, I would probably be a little concerned about the timing of marrying immediately after her fiancée turns seventeen. However, _it is Hermione Granger_ we’re speaking of. Those two have been nigh inseparable since they met, and I don’t think there’s a single person at Hogwarts who would be surprised at the revelation they’re intending to tie the knot.”

“It’s hard to remember that she’s only fifteen sometimes,” Pomona murmured. “We put far too much on her to fix all this nonsense.”

“Aye, but better she learns to deal with it than let her wallow in ignorance. Albus was firm with me on that one—and he had the full-throated endorsement of Nicholas Flamel. He’s even told me that he intends to offer Harry an apprenticeship after all this is done.”

“Flamel? I thought he was dead,” Pomona murmured. “What with all that nonsense back in ninety-one?”

“Convoluted, as you can always expect from Albus,” Minerva snorted. “I’m more than reasonably certain that he intended the entire thing as a test of strength for Harry. I doubt the philosopher’s stone we protected was a real one.”

“All that was for nothing?”

“Not nothing—a lure, to get You-Know-Who to bite. Albus never did believe that the Potters did him in. Too clean, too… _easy_.”

“Hmpf,” Pomona said, frowning.

“Oh, stop being such a wart about it, Mona,” Poppy said with a snort. “Minnie did a fine job with that girl, and you know it.”

…

The ‘Wixen World’ as it was so often named had largely moved past the traditions of noble titles. Families still held immense wealth and political influence, but feudalism had largely gone the way of the dodo with the number of aristocratic families that had died out and left their land in the hands of the Ministry for Magic, now, landlordism was rare and in-between-- isolated to few holdouts who owned farms and small groupings of cottages in the hills and plains.

However—the one place that noble titles still seemed to matter, was Gringotts. The treaties that kept peace between Goblin and Human and their respective realms ensured that, for better or worse, nobility stayed nobility in the eyes of the bank. It wasn’t entirely out of sheer selfish ambition either. While the uninformed, ignorant wix may declaim the barbarity and animalistic nature of the goblin, the goblin would declaim the barbarity, impiety and utter dishonest dealings of the wix.

In truth—Goblins were a proud and noble group of beings. A strong martial society built on warrior castes turned inward with their successive defeats and remanding to usury—full of piety towards their Forge gods, desperate in many ways to retain their last bits of independence before being subsumed by the human oppressor. Anyone with a _cursory_ understanding of Goblin-Human relations would know this; it was merely unfortunate that the only thing anybody ever learned at Hogwarts where Goblins were concerned, was of the ancient Goblin Wars, and even then, only specific bits that had been echoed a thousand-million times over by Cuthbert Binns.

It was _different_, Harry considered as she walked up the marble steps of Gringotts with her party of people.

The foyer was about as usual as it always was—the horseshoe shaped desk of tellers and overseers with queues going to all the various windows.

“Ah,” came a wizened old voice. “Good, you three are here—punctual. Good.”

The goblin looking at them was shorter than Professor Flitwick, but with a similar pair of spectacles adorning his long nose. He looked almost like a kindly grandfather; Harry mused.

“Ah, Ŝtalovitro,” Albus said fondly. “May I introduce you to Lady Harry Potter and Lord Sirius Black?”

“The Girl-Who-Lived and her godfather,” Ŝtalovitro said with a wry grin, flashing his sharp teeth. “A pleasure. Now come along, His Majesty is waiting.”

“I was unaware we would be meeting with His Majesty,” Albus said, blinking in surprise.

“When your request came in, it was passed up the chain immediately. It was, after all, a very large request to ask of us. You know the treaties we’re bound by, Albus.”

“I would not have asked were it not a matter of security and safety, Ŝtalo.”

“That remains to be seen, Albus,” Ŝtalo said with a snort.

The long gold-and-silver corridors of Gringotts were fascinating as hell, various doors adorned in the runic language of the Goblins, though Harry noticed the subtitle was written in Scottish.

“Scottish?” Harry asked quietly, glancing at Ŝtalo.

“Ah, one of our finest little conveniences. While we’re required to do all transactions in the language of the Ministry for Magic, we enchanted most of the doors and amenities here to display the first language of whomever reads it. I see nothing but Forgespeak.”

“That makes sense, but… I learned English first, before I ever knew Scottish?” Harry said, eyebrow raised.

“Clearly something within you considers Scottish your first language, otherwise you wouldn’t see that on all the door plaques. It’s magic, my dear. Do keep up,” Ŝtalovitro said with a snort.

Eventually, the corridors came to an end at a large glistening door.

“Do remember to be courteous and deferential to His Majesty at all times. The old man does like to step away from tradition and court traditions when there is business to be done, but don’t presume things before he says it is okay. Are we ready?”

Pushing the doors open, Ŝtalovitro called into the chamber.

“Your Majesty, there are visitors who seek an audience with you.”

“Send them in,” came a dry voice from within.

Harry followed Ŝtalovitro through the doors and marvelled at the sight of the throne room. The ceiling was done up in intricate artistry, depicting what she presumed to be the history of Goblins as she knew it. A species that learned the forges and metallurgy from the early civilizations, spread to the four winds by invading empires, subjugated and remanded to the practice of usury. She really needed to learn more about them.

Her eyes fell on the throne, and who was seated on it. It was… _a human_, or something very close to it. He had pointed ears and long, sharp fingers, but he looked very much like a human man, done up in a costume from around the time Harry was born, with frocks and a glimmering coat. His blond hair was wild and Harry swore she could almost feel the magic in it. Very strange, that.

“Your Majesty, I present to you Lady Harry James Potter—Lady-Regnant Potter, Peverell and Slytherin; Lord Sirius Orion Black the Third, Lord Black; and Master Albus Wulfric Brian Percival Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Wixencraft.”

“Thank you, Majoro Ŝtalovitro,” the man said with a wave of his hand.

“Human guests,” Ŝtalovitro said, turning to face them. “Presenting His Royal Majesty, High King Jareth, Lord of All Goblins, Commander of the Unbidden Horde, Keeper of the Gold,”

“Enough—Ŝtalovitro, thank you for bringing them before me, but we have business to conduct and I will not stand on unnecessary ceremonies, or overly formal pleasantries,” the King said, waving his hand again, dismissively.

“Your will be done, my liege,” Ŝtalovitro said with a bow, before backing out of the room entirely, leaving the three of them standing before the goblin king.

“I already know your first question,” the King—Jareth—said with a lazy smile. “and to answer it—I may appear to be human, but I promise you, I am very much one of the Forged, but when you live as long as I have…”

“You’re the first and _only_ Goblin King,” Harry observed. “All the various Goblin lords in history, they were merely fronts for your reign.”

“Very astute,” Jareth said with a grin. “Oh yes, you’re absolutely right. I have led my horde for many centuries—ever since they fled from those dreaded Assyrians, and somehow we’ve ended up here on this rock, and it is where we’ve remained despite the objections of some.”

He let out a short laugh, before fixing Harry with a look. “Now, Lady Potter, tell me what exactly it is I can do for you?”

“There is a grave matter we bring before you today,” Harry said. “It relates to the Dark Lord who calls himself Voldemort.”

“Voldemort?” Jareth said with an eyebrow raised. “I thought you killed him some fifteen years ago.”

“I did, but we know he created soul containers to prolong his life, even after being killed. Horcruxes,”

Jareth leaned forward in his throne. “What do you know of those, child?”

“Foul things,” Harry murmured. “We’re certain he’s made some, and we believe one of them is housed in your bank. We believe that the artefact in question was in the Lestrange vault, which was merged into the Black vault. We wanted to retrieve the object without crossing His Majesty’s mercy and plunging our world into another Goblin War.”

“Right,” Jareth said dryly, leaning back in his throne again. “I presume you have means of destroying this abomination?”

“Of course,” Harry said with a nod.

“Good, then you may conduct your business without fear of penalty,” Jareth said with a wave of his hand. “If that’s all…”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Harry said with a bow.

“One last thing, Lady Potter,” Jareth said. “I’m not completely blind to the goings on beyond my chambers. The Ministry for Magic has been usurped, and war brews beyond the walls. Do you intend to carry on like the last time this nonsense happened? Amnesty and kindness for all?”

Harry sighed. “I don’t intend it, not for the most part. Most of the children are innocent, and are getting better—but the parents are still stuck in their old ways. I will do everything I can to _end_ this, once and for all.”

“This _Committee for Public Safety_,” Jareth said. “You trust them?”

“No,” Harry said with a snort. “Don’t get me wrong, some of them are close family and friends—like Arthur, Percy and Dora… but no, I don’t trust it. They serve their purpose now, but when things are done, and Tom Riddle is gone for good, I intend to push them to do away with the very reasons we’ve fought two wars in the last thirty years.”

“They may not take that lightly,” Jareth said, eyebrow raised. “Would you wage a second civil war so soon?”

“The Egyptian philosopher and warlock Salah al-Zahir has given me many philosophical reasons why I might do just that, yes,” Harry said with a snort. “We’re not done until _this nonsense is done_.”

“Someone who actually understands the Slithering One, and doesn’t just listen to the propaganda. Good. You’ll do. Best of luck in your endeavours, Lady Potter. Perhaps we shall speak again.”

_A second civil war._

Harry hadn’t actually considered that, and had done some quick work on her feet to figure out exactly what that would entail. Tribune Bones was a just and noble woman, sure, but _would she always be that way_? What would happen after the war, would there be a push for normalcy and amnesty like the first war, or would they finally see the tyrants locked up like they so richly deserved?

That and frankly—the CPS was still unaccountable to the public. They weren’t elected officials; they were a group of people who seized power for themselves for the duration of the war and who knows just what they intended to do with that unlimited power.

Would she be willing to _become_ a Dark Lady? A renegade?

That was going to require some serious thought. _God in heaven._

The trip down to the Black family vault was filled with her ruminating on the very idea. She had done her job, being the well-spoken and ambitious Slytherin—it was time for the brave Gryffindors to do their job and go cursed-object hunting.

They were met outside the Black family vault by the familiar face of Bill Weasley, and a not-so-familiar goblin.

“Harry,” Bill greeted with a grin. “How’s my second-favourite Slytherin doing?”

“Second-favou- oh, right, Cissa,” Harry said with a snort. “As well as I can given the circumstances. Who’s your associate?”

“Ah, right—Harry, Professor, Sirius, this is Cursebreaker Akralango,” Bill said, gesturing to the goblin beside him. “He conducts oversight for the Bureau of Curses and Protections.”

“Indeed,” Akralango said lowly. “A pleasure, Lady Potter. I was informed we have a dangerous cursed object here that must be dealt with, and that celerity would be appreciated.”

“Yes,” Albus said, stepping forward. “We believe it to be an ancient artefact associated closely with Hogwarts—either Rowena Ravenclaw’s diadem, or Helga Hufflepuff’s chalice.”

“It may take some searching,” Harry muttered, rubbing her face in irritation. “I used to be able to find horcruxes without a problem, but ever since the one in my head died, no dice, probably.”

“You had _what_,” Bill said, whipping around to look at the girl.

“A soul shard was wedged in my head after my parents got done in,” Harry said. “Professor Dumbledore and I think it burned up when Tom resurrected himself. Not long after that, my metamorphmagus powers manifested too.”

“Bloody hell,” Bill uttered.

Scouring through all the junk in the vault wasn’t the most difficult prospect in the world, all things considered. It was time consuming, going through piles of junk and picking out the most obviously dark, enchanted objects—but there were more than a few relics worth something to the Goblins, who were incredibly gracious when Sirius surrendered them with little to no argument, saying he was more than happy to be done with them forever.

Generating goodwill with the Goblin Kingdom while cleansing dark artefacts that had no good intent. A good balance, in all manner of things.

After a couple hours of digging, Harry found it—though she knew better than to touch it with her bare hands. It was a golden chalice with a badger and an ‘H’ engraved on it, with ruby encrusting in a few places.

“I found it, I think! Helga Hufflepuff’s chalice!” Harry called out, before gently levitating the chalice into her charmed bag she’d brought with her. “There, now we can take it somewhere safe and destroy it.”

“Excellent,” Albus said with a grin. “That just leaves the diadem and the snake, then?”

“Indeed,” Harry said with a grin of her own. “Shall we shake a leg back to the surface, then?”

The return to the surface was a silent one, and the Goblins (plus Bill) went their separate ways while Sirius, Albus and Harry stepped out into Diagon Alley.

“Now we just need to take this back to Hogwarts,” Harry said with a smirk. “A quick stab with the Sword of Gryffindor and-”

The sound of a woman shrieking interrupted her musings as the three turned their attentions down the alley where they saw the sudden arrival of several people in black robes and white masks—Death Eaters.

Sirius cringed inside as he watched the glimmer in his goddaughter’s eye turn into the raging inferno she’d seen in Lily all the times they’d duelled Death Eaters.

Harry drew her wand and charged towards the fray where Death Eaters were indiscriminately damaging all the buildings.

“Harry, no!” Sirius called after her, but she ignored her godfather in favour of letting loose.

“It’s Potter!” one Death Eater said, gleefully, drawing the attention of the five wizards to her. With a sharp slash of her wand, the cobblestone ground in front of the terrorists exploded, sending a few of them reeling back.

“Avada Kedavra!” one of them shouted at Harry. The bright, almost hypnotic burst of green lightning from the bolt of the Death Eater’s wand crashed into a large slab of concrete that had jumped in front of her. Albus stepped in and sent a series of stunners and disarming charms their way.

Harry found herself with a firm hand on her shoulder, and then summarily jerked behind a wall.

“Harry James Potter, _have you lost your mind_?” Sirius hissed, the typically casual man’s face contorted in anger. “You should know better than to _charge into battle like that._ You can’t win against seven Death Eaters.”

“I would’ve been fine,” Harry protested, only for her godfather to roughly push her back up against the wall again.

“Listen to me, Harry. This isn’t like practice. This isn’t even like duelling Tom Riddle. These are people who know _more than you do._”

Harry shoved her godfather off of her.

“It’s not like I’m not aware of that, Sirius,” She growled.

“Then why the bloody _fuck_ would you charge into a crowd of people like that? Do you not realize how close you came to getting _killed_? You got an O on your Defence OWLs, you should know better.”

Harry gripped the Elder Wand tighter in her hand. “You’re not my parents, so kindly sod off.”

She made her way out of the side-alley to find the fray had been joined by more Death Eater reinforcements along with several Aurors. The combat was contentious, and the Headmaster was struggling some to contain several Death Eaters in one go.

Harry spun her wand and jabbed it directly at a group of Death Eaters who had the tall Auror Shacklebolt pinned down. She felt the raging burn in her chest, the anger she was feeling at Sirius—and let it loose through her wand. The Elder Wand sang with glee as a sudden jet of bright flame shot from her wand, burning into the air. The fire had no shape, but the inferno was almost like a sentient beast, as it curled around the death eaters, pinning them against each other, several of them screaming.

With a sharp slash down, the flames sputtered out, and she followed it up with a quick rapid succession of stunners and disarming charms, which sent all the Death Eaters and their reinforcements sprawling to the ground, unconscious.

“I dare say—your Fiendfyre is even more impressive now than it was when you faced Quirinus,” Albus breathed as the smoke and dust began to clear.

He turned to look at Harry.

“You and I will have a very serious discussion when we return to Hogwarts, Harry. In the meantime, let us see if we can provide help to the Aurors in cleaning all this up.”

Harry’s jaw tensed some, before she nodded mutely.

…

After some questions and testimony, the Death Eaters (a handful of new recruits and some lesser foot-soldiers) were remanded to the Aurors while the trio returned to Hogwarts, where they quickly dispatched the chalice with the Sword of Gryffindor—leaving only two horcruxes left, by their estimates.

“Sirius, I wish to speak to Harry alone,” Albus said, not unkindly, glancing towards her godfather. “You need not inform Minerva of today’s events, Harry and I will do that ourselves.”

Sirius, still in a terrible mood, merely bowed his head and left through the Floo, leaving the headmaster and his protégé alone in his office.

“Tell me what you did wrong,” Albus said.

“Sirius already gave me this lecture,” Harry said, folding her arms.

“Harry.” Albus said, his voice low. “Tell me what you did wrong.”

“I charged into an uneven fight without regard for myself or others. It was a stupid, Gryffindorish thing to do. I let my anger get the better of me.”

“I will not condemn you for doing what you thought was right—coming to the aid of innocents. But I will say that I am _very disappointed_ that all of our discussions about tactics and strategy have gone in one ear and out the other.”

“They haven’t,” Harry protested. “It was a spur the moment sort of thing! You know as well as I do that even the best made plans often go to pot—if I’d spent time and effort planning on what to do, more people would’ve died or been hurt. Jumping into the fray like I did distracted them from hurting innocents and put them on hurting me. I can live with that. Can you?”

Albus glanced at her carefully, considering his heir carefully. “Do you value yourself so little, my dear?”

“It doesn’t matter if I value myself a lot or a little—their beef is with me, and I don’t want to make innocents suffer because of Tom Riddle’s insatiable ego!”

“Are you seriously going to tell your fiancée and mother to their faces that your life is meaningless enough that you’d throw yourself into what would have likely been certain death?”

“It wasn’t that certain,” Harry said.

“When you had a killing curse cast at you, you froze, Harry. You weren’t quick enough. If I hadn’t been there, you would be _dead_. There is no second chance at life, Harry. Being the Master of Death doesn’t mean you’re invulnerable or immortal.”

“I know this,” Harry said, frowning.

“I know you know, but sometimes I feel like I need to remind you. You are a _Slytherin_, Harry. Act like one.”

“That’s rich coming from the Gryffindor of Gryffindors! How many times did you charge into battle against Grindelwald, _sir_?”

“And all the scars on my body are reminders of what a fool I was to do stupid things like that. Learn from my lessons and _listen_. Sirius was right to be upset with you.”

“Oh, so now I’m public enemy number one?” Harry said, incredulously. “You’re going to rake me over the coals for _a simple mistake?_ How dare you!”

Albus fixed her with a stare. “Reflect on this mistake, and do better next time—but I’m afraid you aren’t going to just get a lashing from me, my dear.”

With a small snap, a house-elf wearing a tunic bearing the crest of Hogwarts appeared before Albus, hands folded behind its back.

“Tilly comes to the Headmasters’ call, sir,”

Albus looked at Fawkes carefully. “Tilly, my dear, would you please bring me Professor McGonagall, Madam Hooch and Hermione Granger?” He asked the elf kindly, earning a thunderous glare from Harry.

“Albus, you can’t,” Harry protested. “It’s none of their business!”

“Harry. You’re getting married next September,” Albus said, eyebrow raised. “How on Earth is it not your fiancée’s business that you nearly died? She’ll read it in the papers tomorrow, and if you think she’ll be cross with you now… how would she feel if she found out _from the newspapers_?”

Harry found herself coming up a bit short. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Harry. I know it may sound hypocritical coming from me, but I do know _some_ things about romance and relationships. Hermione will be upset with you for a while, but it will be okay.”

Harry did not respond. Her jaw merely tightened, and before Albus could say anything further, Harry stormed out of the room. Her feet carried her through the corridors of Hogwarts to the second-floor bathroom. With a strangled, angry hiss, she made her way down the stairs to the Chamber of Secrets.

She wasn’t even sure why she was angry. They were right—proper right to be upset with her. She’d made a very serious mistake.

However—to imply that she didn’t… _care about herself_ or what others thought was so insulting. So what if she didn’t want to protect herself all the time? What if she wanted to help others despite the risks involved?

If she didn’t—Ron would’ve died in the bathroom with that blasted troll. Fatima would’ve probably _died_, been killed by an overzealous magizoologist or someone who saw big death-snake and considered her an existential threat. Pettigrew would’ve gotten away and Sirius would’ve never gotten his name cleared.

If she was a little self-sacrificial, it was for good reason. She was the one who had prophecy and fate leaning over her shoulder breathing down her neck all the time. If she could spare everyone else the need for more suffering on their part, she would without reserve.

“_Heiress, you’re projecting,”_ Fatimah said, slithering her way into the chamber. “_I can feel your anger. What’s wrong?_”

Harry sighed. “_I’m going through some crisis of faith or something stupid like that._”

“_Slytherin had many of those in his life. What exactly is yours?_”

Harry frowned and folded her arms. “_I got into a skirmish with some Death Eaters today in a public area and made a mistake that nearly killed me. Everyone’s proper pissed off at me, and I’m just feeling angry at them and everything. They’re not the ones that have to carry prophecy on their back._”

“_You can’t let prophecy dictate the way you live your life. You’re under a great deal of stress these days, I can tell,”_ Fatimah started. “_But you must understand that these people only care about you, hatchling.”_

“_I get that,_” Harry said, stamping her foot. “_I get that. I’m allowed to be a little P.O.’d, though, yeah?_”

“_Your anger is no less valid than theirs. They’re upset with you for being reckless. You’re upset at them for not understanding you._”

“_I can’t be happy-go-lucky and optimistic all the time, and I don’t particularly take kindly to being given a guilt trip for doing the right thing just because I might’ve put myself in harm’s way. They’re not the same bloody thing._”

“_Perhaps not,_” Fatimah said with a bob of her head. “_Nobody is in the wrong here, you know._”

“_I know,_” Harry said glumly. “_I just want to be upset._”

Fatimah didn’t say anything after that, she merely nuzzled Harry before slithering off back to her nest. Harry decided that the best use of her time in the interim was to cut loose and practice her transfiguration and spellcasting. It was a raucous cacophony of masonry and fire that filled the room as Harry let loose her anger.

When her anger finally left her, she slumped to her knees, bathed in sweat.

“You worry me sometimes.”

Harry craned her head to see Hermione standing at the entrance to the corridor that contained their bedroom. Harry snorted and turned away from her. “Have you come to lecture me too?” She asked.

“No,” Hermione said simply, walking over to Harry and sitting next to her. “But I do want to talk about it. I’m not _angry_ about it. A little upset, maybe, but not angry.”

“I just did what I thought was right. It was a spur the moment thing,” Harry said.

Hermione nodded, gently taking Harry’s hand in hers. “Harry, ever since you unlocked your metamorphmagus powers, we’ve put a lot of your mental well-being discussions aside. How are you feeling, honestly?”

Harry pulled her hand away. “I’m not _around the twist_, Hermione!” Harry protested.

“I’m not saying you are!” Hermione said a little louder, frowning. “The last five years of your life have been rather difficult, so it’s a fair question to ask. How are you _feeling_?”

Harry sighed and flexed her jaw a few times. “Angry. All the time.”

“You were happy during the holiday,” Hermione observed.

Harry sighed. “I was away from all this. Away from destiny, away from stupid responsibilities. I could just… be Harry, and I was a little preoccupied planning my proposal, anyway.”

“Why are you angry all the time, Harry?”

Harry sighed and eyed Hermione warily. “You’re being a therapist again.”

“If I can help you feel better, then that’s what I’ll do. Morgana knows you’ve been there for me plenty of times, particularly after I woke up from being petrified.”

“Right,” Harry said, running a hand through her ginger locks. “Okay. I don’t know _why_ I’m angry. I just am. I’m angry at Voldemort, the bastard—I’m angry at the wizarding world, and I’m angry at myself because I wish I could just end this drama and live my life. I just want to _live_, Hermione. That’s all I want.”

“You’ll get to live, Jamie,” Hermione said softly, using her pet name for Harry. “You and I are going to grow old together, and every day after all this stupid mess is over, we’ll live for ourselves.”

Harry sighed and gently took Hermione’s hand in her own. “I’m sorry, Mia. I don’t mean to be such a drag.”

“I’d rather us suffer together than let you suffer alone—in silence, no less. I love you so very much, Harry Potter.”

“Mia,” Harry said, frowning. “What if…”

“No,” Hermione said, cutting Harry off. “You’re going to live. There is nothing Tom Riddle knows that you can’t counter. Even if you have to reach deep inside and stoke that fire in you, I promise you will _survive_, and you will _live._”

“But what if he hurts you? What if he hurts my mums, Sirius or Dumbledore?”

“That’s always a possibility, but we can’t live in fear. You know that.”

Harry sighed, and Hermione wrapped her in a big hug.

“Why don’t you and I go for a walk, get some fresh air? You could probably use it.”

“Alright,” Harry conceded with a nod.

…

The remainder of the month of January passed without much incident after that particular day. The very public defeat of a group of Death Eaters by the Girl-Who-Lived made the front-page of the Daily Prophet, which trumpeted that the Death Eaters had _no chance_ of besting the combined efforts of the people of Britain and the CPS.

Harry continued to piece together a proper DADA class to help the students catch up to the standards they needed to pass their standardized exams in May. A lot of the classes she was teaching involved a lot of practical magic and involving some of the more rigorous applications she’d learned from Albus—nothing that went too far above their skill-set, but she didn’t treat them like fragile porcelain either. Students in her class would be challenged to do their best.

In early February, Harry was needled into giving a few interviews to the Prophet by the Headmaster and a ragged-looking Nymphadora. Harry remained resolute about the exact wording of her statements to the press, not allowing _anyone_ to dictate exactly what she was going to be saying, even going so far as to tell Tribune Bones that she wouldn’t endorse outright blighted behaviours.

The statements were frequently platitudes when Death Eater raids stirred up fear. With the Girl-Who-Lived so voraciously proclaiming the resistance of Britain against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Feared, it became a game of cat and mouse where Death Eaters would stage a raid, Aurors would show up and defend, and then the Ministry would launch a propaganda offensive against Voldemort and his followers, with Harry invariably commenting about the need to stand firm and resolute against their enemies. Her heroic stature after the “Skirmish of Diagon Alley” had cemented the mind-set in both England and Scotland that she was their only hope against the Dark Lord.

It was actually quite grating to Harry. She couldn’t help but _resent_ it sometimes, being expected to do all these things when adults can’t be bothered or are too afraid to.

…

Percy Weasley was the person who ended up having to look over all of Harry Potter’s statements before they inevitably made their way to the press. He was only two years removed from Hogwarts, and he felt sometimes that he was in over his head. He was the _Minister of Communications now!_ He was the de-facto editor-in-chief of the Daily Prophet and Comptroller of the Wizarding Wireless Network.

Most days, he was flying by the seat of his pants!

As much as January brought him the headache of trying to come up with a good explanation for the Skirmish of Diagon Alley and rally the people around the flag, he was now confronted with something else—mid-February had the secret trials of several high-end Ministry officials involved in the Fudge regime.

It was an authoritarian act by the Bones ministry, no doubt—but Percy needed a way to report on these events in a way that didn’t completely alienate the public. It was already known that Minister Fudge and several others had been arrested for treason but… _bloody hell_, he wasn’t a sodding miracle worker, was he!

The few members of the press who were present had to be corralled by him and several Aurors—and then sitting through hours of the interrogative tribunals where no stone was left unturned. Individuals such as Dolores Umbridge were convicted _in absentia_, while others like Cornelius Fudge and Mafalda Hopkirk were kangaroo courted to their eventual conviction. Hopkirk was the most surprising figure in the spectacle because she turned over on her former allies, revealing just how deep the nepotism and Voldemort sympathizers had gone, including being forced to monitor Muggleborns more rigorously than anyone else.

That was yet another bush-fire they’d have to put out, lest someone like _Hermione Granger_ start a revolution. Percy knew she could, too.

Why?

Because they weren’t that different, really.

Oh, certainly so, the Weasleys were a long and hallowed family of Gryffindors. But that meant very little when most of the family had ambitions the size of small countries. Percy knew that all the ambition and cleverness he threw into his life and the work he did meant he was a snake in lion’s skin—it was what had impressed him so much when the little Granger girl had made her first appearance at Hogwarts.

Unrepentant, willing to be herself in front of everyone and not apologize for it. It was admirable—and Percy knew that someone like her, with Harry Potter by her side, would be a _nightmare_ if they turned against the Ministry wholesale.

His nights during the height of the trials were marked with very little sleep. Staying up until two or three in the morning, crashing out at his desk, waking up at five-thirty and chasing it with almost religious use of Pepper-Up. It was what he had been doing when he chaired DIMC, and now it was what he was doing as Minister of Communications.

As soon as this war was over, Percy resolved, he was quitting his bloody job, and getting out of the thankless realm of civil service. Maybe helping Fred and George manage their business would be a happier sort of business. It had to be better than this shite.


End file.
